


The Hand You're Dealt

by brigid1318



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Drama, Drama & Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Madness, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 113
Words: 249,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brigid1318/pseuds/brigid1318
Summary: Vivien Babineaux didn't ask to have humans kill her parents, or to have a mentally ill younger brother, or to fall in love with an X-Man. But that's the hand life deals her, and she's not one to fold just because things get complicated. Even when torn between love and family, Brotherhood and X-Men, Vivien will always fight for what she believes is right. Set Post-DOFP AU. Originally posted on fanfiction.net.





	1. The First Time I Saw Your Face

**The First Time I Saw Your Face**

January 27, 1973

Some people come to the City of Light for the museums and the architecture and the food (though God knows why French people eat snails and weird shit like that), but not me.

No, I came to Paris because I'm hunting down the asshole military scientist who kidnapped my little brother.

Major William Stryker took my brother Myles three- no, four months ago now, while we were doing surveillance on him for some other government slimeball. Strictly black bag operation. You know how it goes: inter-agency backstabbing can't have a paper trail, so sometimes they send out unaffiliated mercenaries to do their dirty work so it can't be traced back to them. No proof, no foul.

We were supposed to be gathering intelligence at one of Stryker's laboratories one night, but James and Myles got a little too careless and brought the entire guard detail down on themselves. I managed to set off an explosion as a diversion, but Myles got hit by a tranquilizer dart. James got out, he didn't.

I try not to blame my elder brother for this, but damn it's hard.

Also hard- getting Myles back. We've been trying, but Stryker has a bunch of laboratories around the United States, and even some in Canada. James came up with the "bright" idea of getting our hands on the bastard himself and  _forcing_  him to tell us where Myles is.

And since I couldn't talk him out of it, here we are in Paris.

_High security, news cameras everywhere, broad daylight. Seriously, what can go wrong?_  I think bitterly as we survey the crowd in front of the Hotel Majestic.

"If we're going to do this, we should try to go through the parking garage," I suggest to James. When he looks like he's going to protest I turn towards him and snap, "come on, James, grow a fucking brain! With this level of security that's going to be our best bet at-"

Just then the crowd in front of the hotel starts freaking out, though from my vantage point I can't see why. My brother drifts forward, obviously curious, even as everyone else begins to scatter.

_Great, just great. Just_ follow _the screams of terror, brother mine._

I trail after him, feeling rather exasperated at this lack of caution-

And then I freeze.

There's a guy trapped in the hotel's fountain, like the metal fixtures came to life and bound him in place. Blue, furry, with clawed hands and fangs that I catch a glimpse of as he roars his frustration to the unfeeling skies.

Definitely a mutant of some kind. Like me, like both of my brothers. All of us have physical mutations too, but this man has that times a thousand. I mean, he's practically a walking billboard for "Mutants-R-Us."

My first, rather prosaic thought is  _how the hell did he get himself stuck up there?_  but curiosity quickly gives way to compassion as I watch him strain and then give up the hopeless struggle to free himself.

He's just trapped.

And everybody's looking at him like he's a zoo exhibit, like he's not a goddamn  _person_  who  _knows_  that they're all gawking at him in horrified fascination.

A chilling thought occurs to me then-  _maybe to them he's_ not _a person. Maybe they think he's a monster._

Again, I feel a swell of sympathy for the man and anger at humanity's ignorance. I know what it's like to be targeted for being different.

_Trust me, dude. I know the feeling._

The man winces, shying away from the stares and the cameras capturing this humiliating moment for prosperity's sake, but he's got nowhere to go. No matter how hard he tries, Mr. Blue can't break the metal bonds binding him in place in front of the Hotel Majestic.

It hits me then that Stryker's in that building. Stryker, the sadistic bastard who loves to use mutants as his playthings.

James and I have broken into a few labs while on our crusade to find Myles, and we've managed to liberate quite a few mutants from Stryker's clutches along the way. The things I've seen... I know exactly what's going to happen to Mr. Blue if that asshole gets his hands on him.

_Someone should do something. Someone should help-_

My feet are moving before I even decide that today "someone" is going to have to be me.

James tries to stop me, but I bat his hand away and pull up my hood, the better to hide my face as I run. I brush past the other onlookers and have to resist the urge to scream at all of them for their lack of empathy. Can't they see that the poor guy is suffering?

With my running start I manage to leap into the fountain and land on the mutant, gripping his thigh with my knees like I do this every day.

Glad that worked, or that could've been really embarrassing.

"Hi," I say cheerfully. God, I hope he speaks English. I speak Cajun and Creole but I know Parisian French is different. "Hold still for a second, ok?"

"W-what are you doing?" Mr. Blue asks, with evident astonishment. I can't say I blame him for his surprise, considering how everyone's giving him the circus freak treatment right now.

_He's pretty hot,_  I muse.  _Muscles for days, high cheekbones, and that blue is so striking._

And you'd expect all the fur to smell like wet dog right now, but he actually smells really nice.

Now that I'm close enough to get a read on his scent I can tell he's a feral mutant, like me. His eyes are absolutely gorgeous- gold around the pupil, and a startling orange around the edge of his irises. They remind me of sunsets, and against the blue of his skin-

_Get it together, Babineaux._

I scoff at myself and peer up at the metal bindings holding him in place. "What does it look like I'm doing?" I ask rhetorically. "I'm trying to get you out of this. You don't exactly match the decor."

Hot as he is, I'm pretty sure "furry blue guy in distress" was not the aesthetic the architects were going for when they designed this fountain.

His legs will be easy enough to untangle, but the metal around his wrists is much too tight. I can feel him staring at me as I reach into a boot for one of my adamantium knives (a souvenir from a previous foray into my least favorite mad scientist's laboratories) to easily cut him loose.

"Thank you," Mr. Blue murmurs sincerely.

His genuine earnestness brings a reluctant, sheepish grin to my face. Yeah, I'll probably pay for this kind deed later, but in this moment it's completely worth it to save this guy.

"You're welcome," I reply. "Good luck."

Then I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. Mostly as a token of farewell, but also because a tiny part of me wants to know if the fur covering most of his face and chin is as soft as it looks.

It's even softer.

Grinning, I hop off of him and land on the fountain's edge.

It's only once I clear a police car with one jump and disappear into the crowd that I start to worry about the repercussions of my good deed. No one saw my face, but this whole fiasco has definitely put the kibosh on getting Stryker today.

_Oh, James is going to be pissed._

Sure enough, Brother Dearest looks well and truly ticked off when he meets me at the rendezvous point we agreed upon earlier for if we got separated.

"Nice going, Vivien," he snarls. "What the hell was that for?"

I sigh.

James and I have never really been on the same page, but lately- ever since we lost Myles- it's just gotten worse. I know he's not going to understand my compassionate impulse, not when it cost us a shot at getting our brother back today.

So instead I just shrug and mutter an apology. My half-hearted gesture does nothing to soothe his anger, of course.

_And besides,_  I admit to myself, thinking of that blue mutant's gratitude.  _I don't mean it, anyway._


	2. Object Lessons

**Object Lessons**

January 31, 1973

Albert Einstein once said something about how the definition of insanity is repeating the same action over and over again and expecting a different result.

And I may be a lot of things, but crazy isn't one of them.

That's why when James suggests that we make an attempt to get Stryker a _second_  time a few days after the Paris debacle I laugh in his face. He wants to try again at this White House ceremony the news is touting about.

The papers are vague on the details, but the terms "mutant" and "problem" and "solution" are being thrown around.

Not exactly words I like to hear grouped together.

"No way," I tell him flat-out.

James glowers at me and throws the newspaper down on top of the computer science correspondence course I'd been working on until he so rudely interrupted me. "Why not?" he demands.

"Because I'm not suicidal? They're talking about a 'solution for the mutant problem' and you just want to present yourself for a demonstration," I argue. "And besides, it's going to be at the  _White House_ , James. Ever heard of the Secret Service? Our shot at getting into that hotel was bad enough, but this-"

"We had a decent shot," my brother cuts in. "But  _you_  ruined it, remember?"

He just _had_ to bring that up again, didn't he? He's complained about it so much the past few days that I'm done even  _pretending_  to be sorry.

Now I'm just pissed off, and it's all I can do not to spit out that maybe we wouldn't be in this fix if he'd watched out for Myles the way he was supposed to in the first place.

" _Things without all remedy/ Should be without regard. What's done is done,"_  I quote, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

Or punch him. You know, whichever.

For all that I just turned twenty and he's hitting twenty-three this year, whenever we bicker we somehow revert to being little kids again. Back then Mom broke up the fights between us, which usually devolved into hair-pulling (James) and giving black eyes (me).

Ah, the good old days.

Now our arguments rarely turn physical, but sometimes I think that this is worse. Cruel words from a person you love are always the most hurtful, aren't they?

"I hate it when you do that," James complains presently. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means get the fuck over it," I reply sweetly. He opens his mouth to tear into me, but I cut him off by holding up my computer science workbook. "Want to hear my idea? It's got a much lower chance of imminent death."

"Alright," he agrees reluctantly. "What?"

* * *

February 2, 1973

James ends up hesitantly acquiescing to my plan, and that's why we're not at the White House two days later when the shit really hits the fan.

Instead we're in a diner eating lunch in Virginia when this guy in a goofy-looking helmet and a cape commandeers the Sentinel program- meant to hunt down and kill mutants- and then turns a whole bunch of guns on the President and his Cabinet.

I recognize him from the Paris news reports- he's the one that trapped my buddy Mr. Blue in that fountain. I'm not sure what to make of this man at first, between that and the stupid fashion accessories.

But then he starts talking.

"You built these weapons to destroy us. Why? Because you are afraid of our gifts. Because we are different. Humanity has always feared that which is different-"

_Amen, brother. I've got two dead parents and a missing brother that says you're right._

"-Well, I'm here to tell you, to tell the world, you're right to fear us! We are the future! We are the ones who will inherit this earth!-"

From a purely scientific standpoint, Mr. Caped Crusader ( _I mean, seriously, who even wears a cape?_ ) isn't wrong. I've never been to a traditional school, but I do a lot of reading on my own. I know how Neanderthals went the way of the dodo bird when  _Homo sapiens_  showed up.

Who's to say mutants aren't the next step in evolution? Aren't we just humans with a little extra advantage?

"-And anyone who stands in our way will suffer the same fate as these men you see before you! Today was meant to be a display of your power. Instead, I give you a glimpse of the devastation my race can unleash upon yours! Let this be a warning to the world-"

_Is he really going to kill the President on live television? He's kidding, right?_

"-And to my mutant brothers and sisters out there, I say this: no more hiding. No more suffering. You have lived in the shadows in shame and fear for too long-"

I glance at my brother, technically breaking etiquette by wearing a fedora inside. Not because he has no manners, but to cover the pointed elf-ears we both inherited from our mother. I'm wearing a hat, myself.

I look at the way we hold our silverware while we eat, to hide our claws.

And I think about how careful we have to be when we speak, or smile, in public because of our fangs.

_It would be nice not to have to hide,_  I think wistfully.  _To wear my hair however I wanted, to smile whenever I feel like it, without worrying about someone trying to kill me for it._

"-Come out. Join me. Fight together in a brotherhood of our kind! A new tomorrow, that starts today!"

Before the guy can shoot anyone, President Nixon steps out of the remnants of the safety room I'm assuming is supposed to be under the White House-

But it's not the President at all! It's the blue naked woman from the Paris news, and she shoots the man in the cape.

And then she turns and points a gun at the real President.

It feels like forever that Naked Girl just stands there, not shooting but holding a loaded weapon aimed right at the Commander-in-Chief.

All of us in the diner are riveted, wondering what will happen next.

The relief is palpable when she finally drops the gun.

I wonder why the hell it took her so long? Was she thinking about pulling the trigger? But then why stop the other guy, if she was just going to shoot the President herself? What-?

James interrupts my musings when he suddenly reaches up and deliberately takes off his hat, revealing his ears to the other people at the lunch counter. He glances around, just  _daring_  anyone to say something.

_Well, shit._

Hating him just a bit, I take off my hat too. I guess that if my brother is going to get pelted by hot soup and dinner rolls, I can't let him do it alone.

I mean, I'll probably get hit anyway because I'm sitting next to him. I might as well make a stand while I'm at it.

No one says anything, though I know they can see us. No one throws food at us or shouts for us to take our mutant selves elsewhere.

Instead everyone looks at us, gives the television set in the corner a furtive glance, and ostensibly goes back to their meals.

_Interesting._

It's the first time I've ever shown my physical mutations in public without anyone freaking out. I feel like maybe... Maybe there's an object lesson to be learned here.

That metal guy was about to kill Nixon, but the blue woman stopped him before pulling a gun on the President, too. She didn't shoot, but still-

She could have. And none of them could've stopped her.

Both of their actions, that guy's speech, were a clear warning. A warning to those who want to use force against mutants that we refuse to be treated like second class citizens anymore.

Is this what it takes for mutants to get respect?

It's definitely something to think about.

* * *

I move fast that night, before Stryker can recover from the White House debacle (there's been a lot of those lately) and start destroying his files. This was my idea: infiltrating the mad scientist's office and taking a looksie at his computer to see if I can possibly track Myles down that way.

I'm hoping it'll at least narrow it down, rather than us picking laboratories at random to break into. The more we do that the higher the likelihood of one of us getting pinched. To me this seems like a good solution.

James complains about me going in alone, but I wave off his protests.

I prefer working by myself- always have, and I probably always will. Mostly because I can control what _I_  do on a mission- hiding myself, etc- but not other people. What if James triggers an alarm or something? Thanks, but no thanks.

And besides, I don't know if my psyche can handle losing another brother like that.

So in I go alone.

Past the security cameras, and the access codes, and the guard, into Mr. Slimeball's office. I settle down in his comfy chair and go over the dirty laundry in his computer files.

And  _damn_ , is it dirty.

Once I get past the encryptions I realize that the only guy who talks more to Commies than Stryker and his buddy Bolivar Trask is Kissinger himself.

It's all here in black and white. May God bless modern technology.

Space-age polymers, large caliber weapons, genetic technology- up until the whole Sentinel program blew up in their faces the other day, these two were negotiating with any buyer they could muster from either side of the Iron Curtain.

I'm no legal expert, but that smells like treason to me.

_I'm going to need a shower after reading this,_  I darkly observe to myself as I delve in further.

And then I stumble upon the autopsy photos.

Mutants, dead. So many mutants, murdered and their bodies violated in the hopes that their powers could be used to kill even more of us.

I don't recognize any of the people I see, but I'm still on the verge of tears just looking at them. Every corpse is a life that was unfairly snatched away, a future snuffed out by fear and hatred just like my parents.

It takes a moment to compose myself, as consumed by loathing for this man as I am.

_This_ has _to stop._

This goes beyond just finding my brother now, though I thank God that I don't find his autopsy photograph. That means he's still being held in the facility he's listed in. But now that I know what's going on in Stryker's labs I have to do everything I can to bring this fucker down, so he can't do this anymore.

So I do what any patriotic American citizen with even an ounce of empathy would do: I copy all of the files onto a floppy disk and leave it in the mailbox of  _The Washington Post_  once I sneak back out of Stryker's office.

I want that bastard's name in every headline in the morning, proclaiming to everyone that he's a traitorous, evil sonuvabitch who deserves to burn in Hell for what he's done.

_Suck on that, Stryker._


	3. Easy Answers

**Easy Answers**

When I was a little kid I was the one who always wanted "just one more story" at bedtime, long after James and Myles fell asleep. Parrault, the Brothers Grimm, Aesop, de Beaumont, Tolkien- I couldn't get enough of them.

Sometimes, even as I got old enough to read other things, I'd pretend that I was in a fairy tale myself.

That wasn't too hard because we lived in this little cabin out in the middle of fucking nowhere, a lot like Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother but with alligators and mosquitoes big enough to carry off puppies and small children. It was a perfect place for make-believe, completely disconnected from the real world.

God, what I'd do to be back in that time and place. To fall asleep in my family's embrace, safe in the knowledge that everything is fine, that nothing can hurt me. When I was younger all my problems had easy answers, effortlessly solved by a parent's wisdom and listening ear.

I'm slowly forgetting what that felt like.

Back then whenever James and Myles got on my nerves or Mom tried to make me do the chores I hated I'd run out into the bayou with a book and hide in a tree to read undisturbed. I told myself that a prince would come save me from my "wicked" family some day, if only I was good enough.

Because that's what happens in fairy tales, right?

Good people are rewarded, bad people are punished. And even the annoying little bratty kids (being more self-aware now, I know I was guilty) get happy endings if they learn their lessons fast enough.

I'm old enough to know that life doesn't always work that way now, but I guess I still have  _some_  faith in the universe. How can any of us go on, otherwise? Even after my parents were murdered for no fucking reason, I've always wanted to believe that things will eventually turn out alright. There _has_  to be a sense of justice in this world, even if it's hard to find sometimes.

Like the Duchess says to Alice-  _"Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it."_

That's what I keep telling myself while I eagerly wait for karma to come around and bite Stryker in the ass. Justice is coming for him, whether he knows it yet or not.

Oh, it's going to be like Christmas come early.

I feel this surge of vicious triumph when the papers the morning after my little field trip are all plastered with Trask and Stryker's smarmy faces and the details of their double-dealing ways. The articles tend to focus on the treason and tech-peddling rather than the death and dismemberment of innocent civilians, but I tell myself that's fine.

However they get there, I just want them to end up behind bars or in front of a firing squad.

Either or, really. I'm not picky.

Just as long as they can't hurt another mutant again.

* * *

February 7, 1973

Tonight, finally, is the night.

We're going to get Myles back tonight, come hell or high water. Part of me is almost overwhelmed with anxious anticipation at the thought of finally seeing my brother again. But another part of me is terrified of how four months' captivity has affected him.

Who knows what those bastards did to him during all this time? I mean, after seeing those autopsy photographs I'm just thankful he still has a goddamn  _pulse_. What kind of shape is my little brother going to be in when we find him?

Myles has always been the baby of the family, even though he's only two years younger than me. When we were younger he looked up to James like an idol and fell into our older brother's stupid schemes without questioning the wisdom of it all. The two of them thought it was hilarious to pull all sorts of hijinks- some of which may or may not have been felonies. They didn't mean anything by it, but that's obviously not how the rednecks of our podunk little town took the minor explosions and theft.

I, being both the middle child and the only girl (a combination of factors that I think left a chip on my shoulder bigger than the state of Texas), was a frequent target for their pranks. I learned how to suck it up and dish it back to them out of self-defense.

Some days our house was less a home and more like a war zone, with my parents playing the part of half-hearted referees. I think they were secretly proud of our ingenuity, to be honest.

I mean, how can you  _not_  be proud of your ten year old daughter for figuring out how to make nitroglycerin out of kerosene and cough syrup? She's not going to just  _break_  the mold for girls not liking science, she's going to fucking blow it up.

But then everything changed when Mom and Dad died.

My brothers and I went from occasional adversaries to being the only family any of us have anymore. We've had no choice but to stick together. And as much as I bad mouth James sometimes, as the eldest sibling he's had a tough row to hoe since then.

The one thing we've always agreed on is keeping Myles safe. I think maybe the guilt of our joint failure on that front is part of the reason James and I butt heads so often.

Well, that and the fact that he's a bit of an asshole sometimes.

"You're  _really_  sure this is it?" he asks incredulously.

We're observing our target- an innocuous-looking building in Someplace-Who-Even-Cares-As-Long-As-Myles-Is-Here, Delaware- from a shadowy alleyway across the street.

I'm a little insulted. "You doubt me?" I scoff.

"Not you," James replies, slightly sullen. "Those newfangled computer things."

I can't help laughing at that. "Did you really just say 'newfangled?'" I tease. I  _might_  be getting a little slaphappy, thanks to all the tense anticipation and anxiety. "Really?"

"Shut up. You know I don't believe in this computer shit."

I snort and roll my eyes. "Troglodyte," I mutter. "Are you going to take out the security camera or not?"

James mumbles to himself- something about little sisters and big words he can't understand- as he picks up a piece of brick and lobs it at the camera.

At this point we've broken into so many of these places we practically have a routine down. I get us past the access codes, and then together we systematically search the building for test subjects, taking out any guards we meet.

I swear to God, James is noisy as hell on purpose, drawing the guards to us. He  _wants_  them to find us, so we have to beat the snot out of them before we can get any further. I think he takes pleasure in the violence.

It bothers me, ok?

For one, I don't like hurting people.

I mean, I will if I have to. But I don't enjoy it, not the way my brother does. It doesn't feel right to see him looking almost  _giddy_  like this, giving people concussions and breaking bones.

And the way he's still always spoiling for a fight means he hasn't learned a goddamn thing since we lost Myles.

Speaking of which...

I'm starting to get really worried as we clear the building. Almost all of the test subject rooms (which, by the way, are disgusting. I've broken my brothers out of jails in third world countries with nicer amenities) are empty except for a few.

_Where's Myles? Did they move him, or-?_

Just as I begin to lose hope, I crack the door on one of the cells and find a young man that bears a passing resemblance to my brother chained to a wall. It's hard to tell because his face is so thoroughly covered in cuts and bruises, but I'd know that towhead hair anywhere.

"Oh, God," I gasp. "Myles! James, I found him!"

My little brother barely stirs.

I rush in and start cutting him free. "It's ok, Myles, I've got you," I assure him. "I'll get you out of here."

He can't even lower his arms without help, they've been stuck in the same position for so long. Once I've done that I take his face between my hands to check him over, and-

Myles' bleary eyes focus on me. "Mommy?" he mumbles.

_Oh, Jesus. Babineaux, you_ cannot _cry. Don't you dare cry. Remember, tears are for wussies, and you are_ not _a wussy._

I stomp that urge right in the face. "No, baby bro, it's me," I tell him. "It's Vivien. Me and James came to get you, together. Can you believe it? We didn't even strangle each other or anything."

The light coming in from the cell's doorway is suddenly partially blocked.

I glance over and see James peering in at us, a look of unadulterated rage on his face. "He's here, James," I breathe. "We've got him-"

Without a word, he turns on his heel and stalks off, out of sight.

_What the actual fuck?_

"Uh, I guess I'll just carry him out by myself!" I call after him. "Dick."

Then I turn back to Myles. His condition is really hitting me now that I'm coming down off the relieved high of finding him alive.

Jesus, it's bad.

_How could they_ do _this to him? He's just a goddamn_  kid.

He's deathly skinny, so thin he'd make Ghandi look pleasantly plump. He smells like piss and shit and I can't find an inch of skin that isn't bruised. I can see burn marks all over him, too.

I'm not even sure I'll be able to carry him out of here without causing him pain, but I've gotta give it my best shot.

"Ok, Myles, easy does it," I murmur.

I'm stronger than my pipsqueak size would suggest, thanks to being a feral mutant. So even though it takes some maneuvering, I manage to get Myles over my shoulders and settle him into a fireman's lift.

Some of his skin peels off onto the concrete floor as I pick him up.

_Oh, gross. Shower, I need to shower. Where the hell is James? Can't I be a girl for just two seconds and make him do this?_

I realize where James has been once I step out of the cell and start finding dead bodies, like I stumbled into a horrible flashback.

Suddenly I'm eleven years old again, and my parents just died, and James is killing the people that killed  _them_ , like that's going to fucking  _fix_  anything.

"James!" I snap once he finally appears. His hands are covered in blood, and I'm actually a little scared of him right now. But I'll be  _damned_  before I let him know that. "What the hell-?"

"Don't start with me, Vivien," he snarls, cutting me off. He comes closer and slides our younger brother off my back, taking the burden for himself. "Look at Myles! Look what they did to him! How could they  _not_  know what they were doing?"

_Aw, fuck._

"They knew," I admit. "But-"

"But nothing," my brother retorts. "Now they're never going to lay a hand on another mutant again. Isn't that what you want for Stryker, too?"

Yes, I want Stryker to pay for what he's done. But like  _this_?

I wish there was an easy answer.


	4. Fortune's Fools

**Fortune's Fools**

I had a feeling Myles would be in bad shape when we freed him from Stryker's clutches. I mean, not  _this_  bad, but I knew he wouldn't look like he'd just gotten back from a week in the Bahamas, either.

Still, I guess I thought everything would be fine once we got him out. We might have to nurse him back to health for a while, but that was ok. That's the kind of thing you do for family.

And then afterwards, we could get on with our lives and try to put this whole awful episode behind us.

Boy, was I wrong.

* * *

February 13, 1973

We've settled into an apartment in New Jersey for now, until Myles gets better. I know we won't be here much more after that because we never really stay anywhere for long. Mercenaries and occasional fugitives from the law don't exactly keep permanent residences, it's just bad business. I give us two months here, tops.

The first sign that something's wrong in Little-Brother-Land comes almost a week after we steal Myles back, when he speaks for the first time since that night.

"Sissy," he suddenly says while I'm putting ointment on his burns. They're healing up pretty well, as are the bruises and minor cuts. Unfortunately the skin on his back will take more time.

I grin at his name for me. He hasn't called me "Sissy" since he was seven.

And it's also just good to hear his voice again. He's always been such a chatterbox, the silence has been pretty freaky the past few days.

"Yeah, Myles?"

He giggles and reaches out to touch my nose. "You have spots on your nose," he tells me.

_Uh, ok._

It's not exactly something I'd expect to hear from my eighteen year old brother, but I go with it. "They're freckles, silly," I gently scold. "You have them, too."

"I do?"

"Yeah," I reply, slightly uncertain. "Here, I'll show you."

I grab my compact out of my seldom-used purse and hold it out to him.

"Take a look."

Myles just kinda frowns at the disk for a moment, clearly stumped. I tell myself that's forgivable- I mean, he's a boy, what does he know about makeup?- and obligingly open it for him.

His expression starts out puzzled as he peers at the mirror.

And then he just goes completely ape shit crazy.

He throws the compact across the room and starts flailing around, screeching his head off. The tender, healing wounds on his back tear open again so fresh blood oozes out on the sheets.

"Myles! Myles, knock it off!" I shout, over his screams. "James!"

I hold Myles' arms down by his wrists and hop up onto the mattress, but before I can get to his legs he plants a foot on my stomach and gives me a solid kick.

I let out a hiss of pain as I do this really embarrassing half-fall off the bed and knock into the side railing. But I don't let go.

"James, get your ass in here!"

Finally,  _finally_  James bursts into the room. "What the hell-?"

"I don't know," I yell, "just grab his feet! His feet!"

For a minute there I think our only option is to hold on to Myles until he exhausts himself.

But then I get this bright idea to start singing to him, the way I used to when he had nightmares in the months following our parents' deaths. Just this nonsensical Cajun lullaby Dad used to sing, but it only takes a few seconds for Myles to chill out.

_Wow. I can't believe that actually worked._

Once he seems calm enough I decide to chance giving him some gentle orders, so I can re-bandage his wounds.

"Ok," I murmur. "Ok. Myles, turn over for me please."

He complies like an obedient child, like the past few minutes didn't happen.

I quickly get to work, just in case this docility doesn't last.

"Why were you freaking out, Myles?" James asks in his best attempt at a gentle voice. It still would put John Wayne to shame.

"Huh?"

"Why'd you lose your shit on Vivien?"

Myles giggles. "You said a bad word," he says teasingly. "Hey, you have freckles, too!"

_Oh sweet Jesus._

James and I exchange dark looks. As quickly as that psychotic episode came on, it seems like our brother has no memory of it at all.

"Alright, Myles," I announce cheerfully. "I think it's time for a nap. You comfy?"

He nods. "But can you sing more, Sissy?"

"Of course."

I sing until he falls asleep, then head to the other room and put on my shoes.

"Where do you think you're going?" James demands, grabbing my arm.

I jerk away from him. "I'm going out," I snap. "I haven't left this apartment for almost a week, I just found out my little brother's lost his fucking marbles, and I need a goddamn  _break_."

"What kind of break?" he asks suspiciously.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Vivien," James replies. Suddenly his hazel eyes- pretty much identical to mine- are pleading, an expression that just looks weird on him. "You- you're not going to check out on me, are you? I need you, Sis."

_Well don't I feel like an asshole now. Thanks for bringing_ that _up._

When our parents died I held it together for about two years before I... I went off the deep end for a while.

I was thirteen and stupid and  _so_  fucking tired of having to make adult decisions for all of us. James was so angry at the world all the time, and Myles... Myles wanted Mom back, which was obviously impossible. I couldn't be his mother, I was just a kid myself.

So I went crazy.

Partying, sex, drugs, that whole rock-and-roll lifestyle.  _Anything_  to forget how messed up my life was, even though it was all waiting for me when I came back down from the high.

And then I got my shit together and stopped.

I realized how stupid I was being, how disappointed my parents would be if they saw me like that. They died so I could live, and I couldn't throw my life away anymore.

I made a promise to myself that I would never lose- well,  _myself_ , like that ever again.

Seeing James so anxious now makes me feel ashamed of myself and guilty for what I put him through all over again.

I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. "I'm just going for a walk, James," I assure him. "Now stop being so vulnerable, it's creeping me out."

* * *

As a feral I don't get cold the way other people do, thanks to my body temperature being a lot higher than the Average Jane's.

But because it's February and people will think you're a hooker if you walk down the street in just a romper and boots I put on a jacket for form's sake, with a beanie to hide my ears.

For a while I just walk without any real destination, trying to calmly collect my thoughts.

I end up in a park a few blocks away from the apartment. The weak winter sun's pathetic attempt to warm the dead-looking trees fits my wretched mood.

Everything was supposed to be alright now that we have Myles back. And it isn't, it _really_  isn't. I mean, what if he never gets better? What if he's always going to be like that from now on? A child one moment, a screaming nutjob the next?

It's not  _fair._

Myles has his faults, yeah, but don't we all? He's just a kid, a goddamn kid. What the hell could he have possibly done to  _deserve_  this? How can this ever turn out alright now?

I guess right now I'm feeling betrayed by the universe, which is obviously really stupid. Like the universe even gives a shit about Myles, or my parents, or all of the other mutants stuck in Stryker's labs. It doesn't care about any of us. How else can you explain this?

You know what? On second thought, _fuck_  being calm.

With a snarl I bring my foot up and put it through the slats of one of the park benches, making the stupid thing collapse into a pitiful heap.

A homeless guy on the next bench sits up with a start, making me jump slightly. I hadn't even noticed him there, between my sulking and the fact that he's covered himself in newspapers for warmth.

"Sorry," I mumble awkwardly. I didn't really want my burst of temper to have an audience.

"You ok, girlie?" the man asks gruffly. But not in a mean kind of way. More like a  _I-just-got-woken-up-by-an-angry-blonde-throwing-a-fit-and-now-I'm-confused_  kind of way.

"I'm fine, sir," I reply, giving him that winsome, sugary smile I have down to a science by now.

I'm short, freckled, and the Breast Fairy (that bitch) felt like being a penurious shrew when she paid me a visit during puberty. Trust me, I can easily pull off the sweet little girl act when I need to.

He looks at the pile of wood that used to be a park bench and raises a questioning eyebrow.

"The wood must've been rotten," I offer with a shrug. "Better be careful, there."

The man just chuckles and lays back down without pushing the issue. Within a minute he's fast asleep again.

_Huh. I guess you get used to weirdness, living on a park bench._

I feel bad for the guy, really. It's freezing outside, and here he is trying to keep warm under  _newspapers_ , of all things. How'd he get out here, in this situation?

I guess I'm not the only one having a run of bad luck.

_Just another one of Fortune's fools,_  I think to myself bitterly.  _Poor guy._

On impulse I take off my jacket and gently lay it on top of him. It's too small for a grown man, but it's definitely better than the funny pages. For good measure I take a ten dollar bill out of my boot and shove it in his fist for him to find when he wakes up.

It's not much, but it's all I can do.

Bad things are happening to good people, and I'm completely powerless to stop it. It's eating me up inside. I wish I could help somehow, but what good can one person do against an entire world's worth of ill will and indifference?

God, it'd be so much easier if I could stop caring so damn much.

With a sigh I head back to the apartment, returning the askance looks I get with a defiant glare.

_You have a problem with how I look, say something. I dare you._

Today I have absolutely no fucks to give to people who would rather spend their time judging instead of actually addressing things that really matter.


	5. Just a Chance

**Just a Chance**

Music was a big part of our family back in the day.

Actually, some of my fondest memories are of Dad playing songs he wrote especially for my mother. He played several instruments and taught all of us kids as a matter of course, though I'm not bragging when I say I took to it the most. I honestly think I could play the piano before I even started walking, and the guitar not too long after that.

My father's guitar is now one of my most treasured possessions, the only thing I have left of those happier times. He gave it to me the night he died, a painful memory that I don't think I'll ever shake.

"Take this with you, honey," he told me that night, draping the strap over my shoulder.

An angry mob was already on the hunt for us, his children. For the crime of being different, of being mutants.

After several years of my brothers' pranks the rednecks that lived in the nearby town had slowly put it together that the weird little family out in the woods had something to hide. No one ever saw us kids, really, except for little peeks through the trees. My parents kept us hidden away out of fear for our safety, homeschooling and everything. They didn't want us mixing with the town because we didn't really know how to act  _human_. And we certainly didn't look the part, with our fangs, our ears and claws.

But sometimes now I wonder if the reason we didn't know how to hide what we are was because no one bothered to  _teach_  us. My parents, a little unwisely, indulged our feral instincts too much. Maybe they thought it was harmless, that they would have time to explain the need for caution later. It was definitely a mistake on their part, one I can acknowledge (unwillingly, of course) now that I have more perspective.

But that doesn't mean they deserved to die for it. No way in hell.

That night my dad said he was going to try to talk the the townspeople down while us kids hid in the woods, but I had this terrible, dreadful sense of foreboding that the shit was about to hit the fan in a big way.

"But you and Mom are coming after us, right?" I asked anxiously. "You'll come get us?"

My gentle human father gave me a smile that didn't quite hide the desperation in his eyes. "Right," he agreed.

I didn't believe him.

Neither did James.

"Mom- Dad- we should stay with you," he argued over and over, while my mother paced by the front window, keeping watch. "If we say we're sorry or something, maybe they'll-"

"Louis," she called urgently after a few minutes of back-and-forth. "I can see them."

"You have to go," Dad ordered. "Right now."

"But-"

Mom was over to us in a flash, her hand lashing out so quickly it was almost invisible as she smacked James across the face. That's definitely one way to end a discussion. "Just run and don't come back!" she snapped. "Go!"

"Sophie-" my dad began. I think he wanted to plead with her to go with us and leave him behind.

"No." She took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. "Together, Louis."

Looking back now, I think that was the moment I realized for certain that my parents knew they were about to die. Their kisses and hugs were too desperate, the resolution in their eyes too firm to be anything else but a final goodbye. They didn't expect to make it out alive, no. They hoped to distract the mob, to be the proverbial sacrificial lambs, to give us time to escape.

I don't know if I could ever be as brave as they were. I just hope that one day I'll be able to think myself as worthy of their sacrifice.

"Take care of Myles," Mom whispered, giving me one last hug.

"I will," I promised.

* * *

August 25, 1973

The hope that Myles' outburst that February day was just a one time deal dies a slow, painful death over the next few months. His freak outs aren't an every day thing- sometimes they're not even a once a week occurrence.

Nope, his spaz attacks are just infrequent and unpredictable enough that right when hope rears its shiny head, my brother loses his shit right on cue to kick it in the teeth.

Fun times, I tell you.

Myles is physically one hundred percent better after a month's worth of almost constant nursing, which is kinda a mixed blessing.

I mean, I'm glad he's not a double for a George Romero extra anymore, but it sucks that he's a lot stronger than me and prone to, you know, random fits of violent insanity. I get thrown across the room on more than one occasion (which really sucks, by the way) before I wise up and stop trying to be creative with my attempts to get him to chill the fuck out. The only thing that's guaranteed to calm him down is me singing to him.

Because apparently I'm Mandrake the goddamn Magician now.

My new status as the crazy-person-whisperer means that I get relegated to baby-sitting duty after James and I decide to move all of us to New York City, where it's a bit safer. Though by no means actually  _welcoming_ , New Yorkers tend to be cosmopolitan enough not to immediately bust out the torches and pitchforks when they spot a mutant in the streets.

James gets a job as the bouncer at this underground mutant spot, a nightclub called Club X. I take the odd contract when I can (a little bit of corporate espionage never hurt anyone, right?), but most of the time I'm stuck at the apartment with Myles.

Now let's be clear: I love Myles- and James too, of course- with all my heart, even though we have our differences. We're the only family any of us have left.

But  _damn_  is it hard to be stuck in an apartment, day after day, with someone who seems to have regressed back to the mentality of a ten-year-old, psychotic episodes at no extra charge.

The worst day, no contest, is the day my piano gets broken.

It's not the piano we grew up playing- that one was destroyed in the fire that killed our parents. This is a small electric keyboard I bought for myself a while back.

James likes to bitch about the space it takes up in our already cramped dining/living room area, but I ignore him most of the time. He likes complaining so much, if it's not about my piano it'll be about something else. So screw him.

The sad thing is that it starts off as a really  _good_  day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and no one has a psychotic break...

Before six pm.

"Alright, boys," I announce brightly. I place platefuls of chocolate chip pancakes in front of my brothers' places at our little table.  _"Bon appetit!"_

James immediately attacks his meal with gusto before I can even sit down with my own plate.

I reach out and smack him across the back of his head. "You're  _welcome_ ," I say pointedly.

He rolls his eyes. "Fanks," he replies through a mouthful of food.

Meanwhile, Myles is just staring at his pancakes with a puzzled expression.

"What's wrong, Myles?" I inquire. "Do you need more syrup?"

He shakes his head. "Why are we having pancakes for dinner?" he asks blankly. It hurts that he doesn't remember how often we've done it in the past.

"Because our sister is weird," James offers. "Best just to eat what she makes you and be happy she didn't spit in it."

He says weird, I say  _courageous_.

I'm fighting unfair, judgmental labels wherever I can, even if it's just food. It's keeping me in practice for bigger and more important things. But until those things come along, Vivien Babineaux will always make a stand against indoctrination and discrimination against certain foods by eating whatever she wants,  _whenever_  she wants, fuck the world.

Plus, I just really like pancakes, ok?

Myles looks a little agitated, which immediately puts me on my guard. "Sissy is weird?"

"Extremely," James replies.

"I'm sitting right here you know," I comment dryly. And then I step on James' foot under the table, trying to telegraph to him that he needs to stop this line of conversation.

He works nights at Club X, so most of the time he's asleep during the day. He's not constantly around Myles like I am at this point, meaning he doesn't know how to read the smell of crazy that starts to blow off our brother before his freak outs.

And I'm getting a big whiff right now.

"It's nothing that you don't already know, Sis," James retorts, grinning. Looks like my subtle warning went right over his head. "You've always been weird."

Myles shrinks away from me, edging his chair more towards James. It would almost be like old times, when they liked to team up on me (let's pick on Sissy, so hilarious) if it wasn't for the wild-eyed look on my younger brother's face.

"James," I snap.

"What?" he presses. "Does the truth hurt, Vivi?"

_Not as much as the punch to the face I want to give you._

God, he is such an idiot sometimes- like a goddamn six year old trapped in a grown man's body. I'm honestly starting to wonder if I'm the only sane one in this family. I definitely feel like the only adult right now.

"Just shut up and eat your pancakes," I tell him.

_"Just shut up and eat your pancakes,"_  James mimics, like the big fat jerk he is. He nudges Myles, trying to get him to join in on the fun. Our younger brother chuckles weakly.

I roll my eyes and stand up, fully intending to take my plate and eat my pancakes alone in my room-

And then all hell breaks loose.

My sudden movement startles Myles, who immediately flips out like a cat that just got dunked in a bath tub. He jerks backward and upends the table as he falls, kicking James in the face on the way down.

James leaps to his feet with a snarl, too peeved to react rationally. He grabs Myles by the scruff of his neck and tosses him across the room.

Right into my pretty little piano, which immediately snaps in half.

Myles, now completely batshit, then launches himself at our brother-

Meanwhile, I'm just standing there with my plate still in my hands while my brothers destroy our apartment. I think it's because I'm experiencing this really sickening moment of clarity just now.

_This is my life. This will_ always _be my life from now on._

It hits me like a sucker punch to the gut.

All the correspondence courses I've taken over the past few years, all of the things I've done to better myself in the hopes that one day I can do something important in the world- they don't mean jack shit. Not a damn thing.

Because as long as Myles is alive, I'm going to have to be there to calm him down when he goes off the deep end. To make sure he eats enough and to look after him, because when he's not acting like Norman Bates he's a child trapped in an adult's body. James can't handle him- James can't even handle  _himself_ half the fucking time.

I'm not saying I'm meant to shine like a star or any kind of bullshit like that, ok? I just want the chance to  _try_  to do something meaningful in this crazy, fucked up world. A chance to make my parents' sacrifices worth something in the grand scheme of things. Just a chance.

And now I'll never get one.


	6. A New Low

**A New Low**

September 28, 1973

The next month is a really dark time for me. Not the darkest I've ever experienced- let's face it, murdered parents pretty much take that prize- but it's no picnic, either.

I guess I'm just slowly resigning myself to my fate as my brothers' nursemaid for all eternity, even though every now and then I have that old daydream of a handsome prince coming to rescue me from my family.

The sad thing is that even if Prince Charming  _did_  walk up to me in Central Park one day with a bouquet of flowers and offer to take me away from here, I would have to tell him no.

Because while I'm no saint, I  _do_  try to do the right thing when I can. Even when life becomes a shit storm, you have to at least  _try_. And staying with Myles and James, no matter how much they drive me crazy, is the right thing to do.

I mean, Myles didn't  _ask_  for any of this, and he sure as hell didn't deserve it. I can't resent him for being a nutjob when he really can't help himself, right?

Except I do, just a little.

I'm only human, ok? I want to go out and live my own life, but I can't because of them. I just can't bring myself to leave my brothers like this.

Instead the only solace I can see on the horizon is Stryker's ass getting thrown in jail for the rest of his life. Preferably as someone's prison bitch, but I suppose him never being able to lay a hand on another mutant again would satisfy me.

I eagerly await that happy news, especially after Dr. Bolivar Trask is put on trial for espionage and collusion over his Sentinel program. He was originally supposed to be charged with treason, but from the sounds of it he's going to make a plea bargain for a lesser sentence of thirty plus years in prison.

A couple decades of contemplating his sins sounds like just what a guy like Trask needs, in my opinion. Far from feeling bad for him, the thought makes me smile. Payback's a bitch, and so am I.

And next up in karma's crosshairs is Stryker.

Or so I thought, anyway.

Imagine how it feels when one morning I read the headline that says,  _"Stryker Not to Be Indicted in Human Rights Violations Case."_

The article goes on to detail how there's a lack of solid evidence linking Stryker with Trask's dirty dealing- a bald-faced lie if there ever was one, because I  _saw_  those files with my own eyes- and he therefore won't be prosecuted over that.

But that's not even the worse part.

The worst part is, the reason that rat-faced bastard isn't going to be prosecuted for torturing mutants is because there's too much debate on whether mutants even count as "people." And since they're obviously not "animals," well... you can't send a guy to prison for hurting a group of individuals who technically exist in a legal gray area, can you?

I'm not mad about that- I'm fucking  _livid_.

I tried to do the right thing by handing over all the evidence to the public, rather than killing Stryker myself. I figured if I did that I'd be no better than the hicks that killed my parents. Instead I wanted humanity to put that asshole on trial, for the justice system to take care of him.

And the system let me down.  _Humanity_  let me down.

Rather than seeing the bastard for what he really is- a torturer, a traitor, a  _murderer_  a hundred times over, the proof all there in black and white- they chose to quibble about whether we even count as  _people_. Like an extra gene just disqualifies us from the human race, apparently.

But then again, they're still having problems accepting humans of a different skin color. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but I suppose that deep down underneath all the pragmatism and sarcasm I'm still an optimist.

Shame on me. I  _really_  should know better by now, don't you think?

The injustice of it all just burns inside of me, like bad acid reflux after taco night. And so does the knowledge that Stryker is walking around breathing fresh clean air and perfectly free to go catch more mutants to use as science experiments. Until the legal situation clears up he doesn't even have to worry about human rights violations.

He  _has_  to be stopped, even if I have to do it myself.

I want to go hunt him down, but I really don't know if Myles could handle me being gone for an extended period of time. This sure as hell isn't going to be a weekend trip to the Poconos.

The frustration of feeling completely useless and trapped by the whole psycho brother situation really wears on me.

It doesn't help that after the piano fiasco I haven't wanted to risk getting another one- and you can forget about me letting my dad's guitar anywhere near Myles now. So music, once one of my only outlets in the complete crap-fest that is my life, is also gone for me.

As cheesy as it sounds, I can feel my soul going dark. I'm pissed off and feeling betrayed by humanity and I can't do anything about it except let all this shit fester. My life sucks, and it looks like it will _always_  suck from now on.

_Yay, me._

Even James, who isn't exactly the most perceptive guy out there, eventually catches on that something's awry. And bless his heart, he tries to do something to fix it.

Sorta.

He enters my room one afternoon-  _without_  knocking- to talk to me about something.

"Hey, Sis."

I sigh. "Can't you knock first, James?" I mutter. I wasn't doing anything in particular, but it's the principle of the thing, you know?

"Why?" he retorts. "You can hear it's me."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. What do you want?"

"Well... I know you've been really pissed about Stryker walking free," James says slowly. "I _told_  you we should've got him in Paris-"

"Get to the point, James," I snap.

Still _hasn't let that go. Like a dog with a fucking bone, I swear._

"Fine. I met a guy at the club who is trying to help mutants," he replies. "I think he can help us kill Stryker."

I just stare at him skeptically.

"See, he's really powerful," James continues. "He's trying to gather mutants who want to help our kind- like  _you_  do. And I told him about Myles, and how we- I mean,  _you_ \- tracked him down in the computer thingys and released all those files to the newspapers."

"And?"

I'm not exactly pleased that my brother has been telling tales to strangers. I mean, who is this "guy?" What if he's a narc or something?

"He wants to meet you tonight," my brother explains in a rush.

I snort. "And what about Myles?"

"He'll come too."

"Myles doesn't do so good in crowds," I tell him. Obviously.

James shrugs. "Tonight he'll have to."

"Oh, wow," I say sardonically. "Is it really that easy to keep him from losing his shit? Maybe I've been doing this wrong."

My brother groans. To my surprise he then reaches out and takes my hands in his, a disconcertingly imploring expression on his face. "Please, Vivien," he pleas. "Just trust me."

It's the "please" that gets me- James never says please. He must really want me to meet this guy, whoever he is, if he's actually being polite to me for once.

"Alright, fine."

* * *

As much as I'm worried about how this evening will go, it's still fun to get dressed up for a night out. It's not something I've done in a  _really_  long time.

"You're wearing _that_?" James demands when I come out of my room.

"Uh, yeah?" I reply. I glance down at my outfit- a white romper with long, cold-shoulder sleeves and a neckline cut to make it look like I actually have boobs. "And? I thought we were going to a club?"

What was he expecting, a business suit?

James just sullenly shakes his head and mutters something about guys hitting on his little sister.

_Whatever, you party-pooper._

I roll my eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

Club X is in an inconspicuous-looking warehouse, the better to keep humans away. It's especially for mutants, so we don't have to worry about hiding here. Actually, flaunting what you have is basically encouraged.

"Alright, wait here," James tells me once we get inside. He takes Myles and leaves me at the bar to go do something or other, I don't particularly care.

Their overbearing-brother routine really cramps my style. And right now it's just nice to be out without a fraternal presence.

A few minutes after they vanish into the crowd I glance over and see a guy watching me from down the bar. Mid-twenties, black hair, brown eyes.  _Really_  cute. He grins when my gaze meet his, an expression I can't help returning.

I smile sweetly and pat the stool next to me, a clear invitation that he takes me up on immediately.

He stands and starts to make his way over-

And then James steps between us, baring his fangs at him. "Don't even think about it," he snarls.

There's no other word for it- the guy  _scampers_ , running from us in the opposite direction.

"Dammit, James!" I snap. I kick him in the shin just so there's no confusion on how pissed I am. "He was  _cute_! Fucking cock-blocker!"

"Ow! Hey, I'm just trying to protect you, Vivien," my brother protests. "That guy was just looking to get laid-"

"Yeah, well maybe I was too. And that's not any of your business," I hiss, baring my own fangs. "I swear, it's like you forget that I'm a  _person_  that can make her own damn choices!"

He's got this creepy, unnerving look in his eyes now, but I don't even flinch. Maybe there's something wrong with me, but the "fight or flight" switch on my inner animal is permanently set to "beat-the-shit-outta-whatever-scares-you."

James backs down first. "Whatever," he sneers. "Come on. He's here."

I follow him over to one of the private VIP rooms, where a pair of- there's no other word for it, really-  _guards_  stand on lookout.

One is a female, maybe eighteen or so. She's tall and really pretty, with long auburn hair and green eyes. The other, a male of the same age, has really dark eyes and silver hair. He's practically...  _vibrating_  with energy, like he's about to explode with it.

_Ok then. I'm definitely liking this less and less..._

I try a tentative smile to mask my trepidation over the situation, but both of them just stare at me like I'm some sort of alien. I don't particularly appreciate the bug-under-a-magnifying-glass feeling.

_Some people, jeez. Fuck this._

"Boo!" I say, faking a quick movement towards them, like I'm about to attack.

They both startle backwards in surprise.

_That's better. Some guards these two make,_ I think smugly.

Laughing, I pass between them with more confidence, leaving James to trail behind me. As I go by him I could swear that the silver-haired kid cracks a smile.

I draw back the curtain and step inside. I take note of an older guy with grayish hair sitting off to the side, just observing. He looks like he's listening to the conversation being carried on between Myles and another man. It looks pretty intense.

But upon our entrance all eyes turn towards us. Doing so means I get a good look at the other guy's face-

It's the man who tried to kill Nixon on live television a few months ago, minus the dorky helmet and cape.

"Oh,  _hell_  no."


	7. Welcome to the Brotherhood

**Welcome to the Brotherhood**

I turn on my heel, fully intending to walk right back out of this powwow, but find my way blocked by my charming older brother.

"Move," I tell him sharply.

I'm  _very_  pissed at him right now, I feel with good reason. Let's just go spend a Friday night with a wanted terrorist, no big deal. That won't put us on any FBI watch lists, of course not.

Only my fucking brother, I swear.

"Just talk to him, Vivien," James urges. He grabs onto my arms when I try to push my way by.

"Get your goddamn hands off me before I break my heel off in your ass," I snarl. I'm so mad at him I can barely see straight. No wonder he wouldn't elaborate on who this mysterious "guy" was, jeez.

"You were right," a pleased voice says behind me. "She definitely has fire."

_So glad I amuse you, fuck-face._

I don't dignify the comment with a reaction. I just reach up and grab James by his wrists, hitting a pressure point just right so he lets me go and falls to his knees. He's lucky I don't knee him in the face, too.

But then, just as I'm about to make my exit, Myles speaks. "Wait, Sissy!" he says earnestly. "Come listen to what he has to say! Please?"

Well, shit.

"You manipulative cocksucker," I hiss at James.

I can't just walk out on Myles- partly out of sisterly feeling, but also because if I do it's likely to trigger a psychotic episode. In a public place. Around powerful strangers.

Meaning my older brother purposely orchestrated this so I wouldn't have a choice but to cooperate, to keep Myles calm. I know they're my family and all, but in this moment I hate them both.

I stiffly take the seat next to Myles, but James remains on his feet. Probably the wisest move he's made all day, keeping out of my reach.

"Magneto," my brother says, "allow me to introduce you to my sister, Vivien. Vivien, Magneto."

_Magneto?_  Really?

You have no idea how hard it is not to laugh in his face.

"Hi," I mutter. I'm too busy watching him suspiciously to be more civil.

Magneto has reddish-brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He looks like he could be in his early forties, still well-built and fit for his age. I think he'd be attractive for an older guy if there was more life in his eyes, but as it is he just looks kinda... dead inside, I guess. Creepy.

He's been looking me over as I do the same to him; we finish our analysis at the same time.

"Hello," Magneto says quietly. "Your brothers have been telling me a lot about you."

"My brothers talk too much," I reply flatly.

My bad attitude seems to amuse him. "Not too trusting, are you?" he observes, with a grin that doesn't reach his eyes at all.

_Yeah, that creepy smile isn't helping much, dude. Too much teeth, you seriously look like a shark or something._

By way of answering that comment I send a rather pointed sidelong glance at my brother. He asked me to trust him, and then promptly manipulated me into sitting down for this little  _tete-a-tete_  with a wanted terrorist.

My own brother.

"No, I'm not particularly trusting. Especially not of a man I saw trying to murder the President on live television," I remark coolly. "Or who treated other mutants like shit in front of humans. Do you have a thing against blue people or something?"

"I had my reasons for that," Magneto says, all holier-than-thou. What a prick.

"I'd love to hear them," I retort. "Considering how James mentioned something about you wanting to help mutants and all, I'm practically dying of curiosity over here."

He looks a little taken aback- I guess this conversation isn't exactly going the way he expected it to. I see him glancing at my brothers before returning his gaze to me, as if recalculating some opinions. About me, maybe?

"I tried to kill the President as a demonstration of the power of our kind," Magneto explains slowly. "As a warning that we will not tolerate this treatment anymore. They tried to build weapons to kill us all, as if we were a pestilence to be exterminated. It's time for humans to acknowledge mutants' place in the world, don't you think?"

I nod.

"We shouldn't have to hide our gifts," he continues. "A beautiful woman like you should be able to proudly walk down the street without fearing for your life just because of the body God gave you. You can't now, but I want to change that."

I'll admit- I'm intrigued at this point. Magneto may be in the running for Creepiest Smile of the Year, but he's got a sort of charisma that pulls you in and makes you listen.

"There are some mutants out there who want to maintain the present status quo. They want to hide their heads in the sand and pretend that everything is fine in this world, but I- and I think you do, as well- know better," Magneto says. "They'd rather us stay in the shadows rather than taking a chance to make the world better for our kind. They're not willing to risk anything. If they had their way, nothing would ever change."

"So those blue mutants-?"

He nods gravely.

"Just so you know, I'm the one who go that blue furry guy out of that fountain," I tell him, with a challenging look.

No matter what, I will never regret helping that guy. No one deserves what Stryker would've done to Mr. Blue if he'd gotten his hands on him. No one.

Far from looking upset by this revelation, Magneto seems rather pleased. "I would never hold that against you, Vivien," he replies. "You were only helping a fellow mutant in need- which brings me to why I wanted to meet you."

I raise my eyebrows expectantly.

"James here was telling me about what you did with Stryker's files, hacking his computers and releasing everything to the papers."

"A whole lotta good that did," I mutter bitterly. "They're not even going to prosecute him for dealing with the Commies, let alone torturing mutants."

"Unfortunately Stryker has many powerful friends who can protect him from treason charges. And as for his crimes against our kind... Mankind has always feared what it doesn't understand. They don't even see us as  _people_. But we can change that, Vivien. We can stop him," Magneto says. It's almost like his eyes are burning out of his face, his fervor finally bringing a spark of life to their unsettling blueness. "You have an impressive array of skills. Will you join our brotherhood and use your powers to help other mutants, or will you stand by and watch our kind be oppressed by a people that hates and fears them?"

Are those really the only choices, or can I take an option C?

As much as I'm agreeing with everything he's saying, I can't help feeling hesitant about all of this. Here it is, a chance to really make a difference in the world... but something doesn't feel right. Maybe I _am_  too suspicious for my own good, I don't know. I just wonder if there's another way.

And besides, what about Myles?

I slowly shake my head. "I agree with what you're saying, but I have to say no," I tell him. "I'm not much of a team player."

James lets out a snarl of frustration. "Come  _on_ , Vivien," he snaps. "This is our chance to make a difference, and you're really just going to say 'no' because you're such a goddamn loner? You're such a- such a-"

Words apparently fail him.

"Come on, spit it out," I say bitterly. "Tell me what you really think about me, James."

He growls, but I remain unmoved- just because I know it'll piss him off more. "Whatever," he huffs. "I'm going with Magneto."

I open my mouth to protest- how can he leave us like this, me and Myles? His  _family_? How-?

"I am, too," Myles adds.

I almost hurt my neck, I whirl around to look at him so fast. "What?"

For the first time in months, some semblance of clarity has returned to my little brother's eyes. "Sissy..." he says hesitantly. He swallows. "Vivien- I know I'm not... I'm not  _right_  up here anymore-"

He points to his own head.

God, it hurts to hear him admit that out loud.

We've been trying to hide his own insanity from Myles, to protect him from himself. But it sounds like he's figured it out on his own. I can't imagine what it feels like, to know that at any second you could go off the deep end, that you're irrevocably broken inside. My poor little brother.

"Myles-"

He shakes his head. "I know I'm not," he repeats stubbornly. "But I still want to try to help mutants. To at least _try._  It's the right thing to do, you know? And since I know you're the only one who can help me... will you come, too?"

Well that's just not  _fair_. How the hell can I say no to that?

I can't. I really can't.

"Alright," I agree quietly. "I'm in."

"Wonderful," Magneto says smoothly. "Welcome to the Brotherhood, all of you. Let me introduce you to your fellows. This-"

He gestures to the middle-aged man sitting opposite me, the one who's been completely silent so far. Like a creepy wax figure that occasionally blinks.

Actually, the more I look at him, the more I realize this guy reminds me of a silent movie villain. I swear, if he starts twiddling his mustache I'm going to start laughing and never stop.

"-Is Jason Wyngarde, also known as Mastermind. The two mutants you passed on the way in are Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch."

Ok, I'm really starting to wonder if this is some sort of elaborate prank. I mean- Magneto? Scarlet Witch? What's next, a guy named Mr. Fantastic?

Suddenly- and I mean  _suddenly_ \- Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch appear seated next to Mastermind. I literally blinked and there they were.

"Did I hear my name?" the silver-haired boy (Get it? Quick _silver_ , hilarious) asks cheerfully.

Magneto frowns with evident disapproval. "You did, but it wasn't an invitation," he mutters. "No matter- Peter, Wanda, meet our new teammates: James, Myles, and Vivien Babineaux. You three, meet the Maximoff twins."

There's still a lot of curiosity in their gazes, but now that we're apparently on the same team the two of them are looking at us with a lot more friendliness.

"Hi," Peter says. "Do you have mutant names yet? You should pick one, now that you're on the team. What can you do, anyway? Hey, you know what you guys look like?  _Elves_ , you guys look like elves. Only cooler, 'cause you have fangs and stuff-"

_Jesus, does he have an "mute" button?_

"Peter," Magneto interjects reprovingly. "We talked about this."

The younger man looks a little sheepish. "Right," he agrees. "Sorry, Dad."

_Dad? Magneto, right. More like-_

I can't help it- I immediately snort back laughter, causing everyone to look at me.

"Sorry," I mutter.

"Care to share?" Scarlet Witch- Wanda- asks, speaking for the first time. She gives me a warm, inviting smile.

Girl power, I guess. I know  _I'm_  definitely feeling a lack of estrogen in this room.

"It's just- he called Magneto 'dad,' and I immediately thought that that makes him ' _Dad_ neto,'" I explain. I feel a little awkward because I'm used to keeping those kind of comments to myself.

The two siblings grin, identical smiles that make it easy to believe that they're twins. They're both looking at me like I just told them I make Twinkies appear when I sneeze or something equally awesome.

"I think that's my new name for you," Peter says to his father excitedly.

Magneto gives him a quelling look, but it doesn't seem to affect either of his kids. I have a funny feeling he's already regretting inviting me to this shindig, but oh well. "You will call me no such thing," he retorts, looking quite dignified.

"Whatever, Dadneto."

Oh yeah. Me and these two are going to get along just fine.


	8. Enter the X-Men

**Enter the X-Men**

After we agree to join his mutant vigilante club (goofy nicknames required), Magneto invites my brothers and I to live in his secret lair. Because  _of course_ you should move in with people you just met, right? Absolutely nothing can go wrong with this, nope, not at all.

It makes me more grateful than ever that I have another place to stay in emergencies. I've made it a policy to get a cheap-ass apartment whenever we go to a new place, just in case of trouble.

And let's face it- "trouble" should be my brothers' middle name.

I call it my "safe house," because that's basically what it is. Ever since Myles went bonkers I've been keeping all of my most precious possessions there- my dad's guitar, most of my records and books. Sometimes I like to go there just for the peace and quiet of being by myself.

Not too many people realize it, but there's a difference between being lonely and being alone. Just because you're sitting quietly, not interacting with anyone, does  _not_  mean you're pining away without some company.

I don't think Peter really gets that.

Perfect example, a week after we move in:

One moment I'm laying in bed, completely absorbed in rereading  _Pride and Prejudice_  (my all-time favorite book), and the next I'm having my peace snatched away by a silver-haired speedster who just entered my room without me even noticing.

"Whatcha readin'?" Peter asks, suddenly sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bedroom floor.

He disappears for a split second before returning to his previous position.

" _Pride and Prejudice_ , huh? What's that about? Does it have zombies? No wait, it's a western, isn't it? Sounds like it could be a John Wayne movie or-"

"Peter, get out!" I snap, utterly exasperated by the interruption. This sort of thing has been happening with alarming frequency ever since we moved in. I have no idea why this boy likes to bother me so much.

"But why?" He actually seems rather hurt.

"I'm busy," I explain peevishly. "And you didn't even knock."

He's gone again.

A knock on the door, a noise I barely even register before Peter's standing at the foot of my bed-

"Can I come in?" he asks brightly.

"You're _already_  in," I retort.

"You took too long to answer," he replies with a shrug. And then he plops down, making himself comfortable once more. " _Everyone_  does."

With a groan of frustration I sit up, fully intending to kick him out-

But then something hits me.

"It sucks, doesn't it?" I muse. "Being so fast compared to everyone else? Life's gotta be like waiting for the old bat ahead of you in the express lane at the grocery store to write a check or something."

Peter nods, his expression becoming rather vulnerable. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. He gives me a sad little grin. "You're the only one besides Wanda to really get that."

Aw, man. Now I can't really tell him to go away, can I? Not when he's being all open and trying to bond or whatever. It'd be like kicking a puppy in the face or something, and I don't have it in me.

Dammit.

I sigh. "Did you come in here just to bug me, or did you need something?" I ask. Even if I'm feeling compassion for this kid, I don't necessarily have to be gracious about it, do I?

Peter instantly brightens a little. "Wanna go hang out a bit with me and Wanda?"

Part of me wants to say no- I mean, what is this, the Mickey Mouse Club? We're supposed to be fighting for mutant equality, not goofing off.

But another voice inside tells me that maybe I  _am_  too much of a loner for my own damn good, and it wouldn't hurt anything for me to open up. Just a little, at least.

"Sure, why not?"

I hop off my bed, ready to follow him out. But to my surprise Peter regains his feet (again with the lightning-fast quickness- if he keeps this up he's going to give me a complex or something) and comes to stand right next to me.

"Ready?" he asks.

"For what?" I'm immediately suspicious- with good reason, I think.

He grins. "Just watch."

Then he puts one hand on my waist, and the other on the back of my head-

And before I can even slap him for being handsy we're zipping along the hallways to the kitchen.

I can't help giggling as soon as we drop out of hyperspace (because that's basically the most accurate description I can think of for it). "Ok, that was  _awesome_ ," I say, laughing.

"Really?" Peter asks eagerly. "Most people feel nauseous the first time."

I shrug, smiling at him.

He grins right back, I guess because we're becoming buddies or whatever. It actually feels...  _nice_.

"Hey, guys! Come on," Wanda calls out from in the kitchen. "I'm making brownies!"

Peter and I exchange a look. He makes to dart ahead of me, but I anticipate his move and hook my foot around his ankle, tripping him up and making him fall on his face.

"Don't get between a woman and chocolate," I tell him, skipping right on by while Wanda howls with laughter at the look on her brother's face.

Far from being upset, Peter seems almost...  _admiring_  of my underhandedness. And when the three of us spend the next few hours chatting away, I'm surprised by how much I enjoy it.

For the first time in my life, I'm making friends.

* * *

Months pass, but my brothers and I are only sent out on a few missions. Nothing big, mainly just me hacking computers while James and Myles stand guard. All three of us quickly chafe at the lack of actual  _purpose_  to it all.

They want to go out and fight people (my brothers, I tell you- mutant rights takes a back seat to beating people up with them), but my big gripe is that I could be out doing the espionage thing and actually getting  _paid_  for it.

And if I'm going to working for free, I want to see some actual results. I want to feel like I'm  _helping_  other mutants.

Otherwise... otherwise I'm back at square one, before we moved here. The only difference is that now there's more people around to watch Myles. Not a terrible development on the little-brother-front, but still... I want to change things for mutants, and I still don't feel like I am.

"It's because Dad's trying to hide our real numbers from the X-Men," Wanda explains one day, when I finally mention my disquiet.

"The who?"

"The X-Men," my friend repeats. "They're a group of mutants that want to block everything we're trying to do. They want mutants to hide what we are and let the humans walk all over us."

I frown. "But why?"

Wanda shrugs. "Dad says they're led by a guy who's blind to reality in a lot of ways. No matter how terrible humans treat us, Charles Xavier ignores it completely and just wants us all to get along," she says, scoffing. "Like we can do that when guys like Stryker are torturing us to death, right?"

Blind to reality pretty much sums that guy up then, from the sounds of it.

"Right," I agree uneasily. "But does that mean me and my brothers aren't going to be able to do anything to help?"

Has all of this been a complete waste of my time?

"I wouldn't say that," she assures me. "I'm sure Dad will be ready for you guys to make your move soon."

* * *

March 1, 1974

"Soon" turns out to be fucking  _March,_ six months after we join the Brotherhood.

"I need all of you to steal a shipment of Agent Orange," Magneto tells us one evening. "The factory is in New Jersey. You need to be careful, though, because the X-Men are likely to try to stop you."

My brothers perk up immediately at the thought of a fight, but I have some questions that need answering first.

"Why do you want us to steal a toxic herbicide?" I ask curiously.

"Better we have it than the humans," Magneto replies, "who use it to kill their own kind."

Well color us puzzled. "But they'll just make more, won't they?" I press. Obviously.

"Vivien," James snaps in a warning tone. He doesn't like when I'm not a good little soldier who follows orders without question. To that I say: fuck him.

I open my mouth to make a retort, but Magneto cuts in. "It's the principle of it, Vixen," he explains. "We have to demonstrate our strength to humanity, and we also need to send the message that their behavior is despicable for using such weapons against one another."

I nod slowly. I can appreciate the symbolism there. "Ok, sure," I agree. "So what's the plan?"

The plan is this:

Peter will take Wanda around to disable all three of the factory's doors. Then, in a synchronized attack, we'll bust in and take out the guards, moving in pairs to cover all three entrances. Since we expect these mysterious X-Men to show up, me and Myles, and then James and Mastermind, are going to distract them while Wanda and Peter clear out the Agent Orange shipment.

The first couple steps of the operation are executed flawlessly. We bust in with no problem, but then Myles gets a little too enthusiastic when we start to attack the guards.

"Myles," I say sharply as he digs his claws into the flesh of an already- unconscious man's throat. "Knock it off."

He glowers at me. "Don't call me that," he retorts petulantly. "We're on a mission, remember?"

Right, of course. The code name thing again.

Myles chose the name "Jackal," and James wants to be called "Fox." After a lot of deliberation I decided on the nickname "Vixen," in tribute to my dad.

There were a few instances while I was growing up when he would scold me for one wrongdoing or another- like the time I let James chase me through the bayou, only to lead him into a snare I set up earlier to get him back for ruining one of my books- and then chuckle over it later when he told Mom about it.

"That little vixen," he would murmur appreciatively. "She's a clever one, our girl. She's going to do great things, you know."

_I'm trying, Dad. I'm trying._

"Fine,  _Jackal_ ," I say at my brother now. I keep my tone reasonable in the hopes that he'll take his cue from that and calm down. "That guy's knocked out. There's no need to hurt him further, is there?"

Myles looks sulky, but mutters, "fine."

He's acting like I just told him he can't have another cookie or something, instead of letting him, you know,  _kill_  someone. God, I worry about him.

Together we line up the unconscious guards in the lobby and then head into the next room. It's a big office area, I'm guessing for the company's secretaries and gophers. On the other side is the door that we need to guard while Wanda and Peter do their thing in the loading area.

We're not there long when faint sounds of movement carry to us from the reception area up front. Myles starts forward, but I hold him back.

"Wait to see who it is, and how many there are," I murmur, straining for patience. Why,  _why_  must I always be the voice of reason with my family? I gesture to the cubicles between us and the other door. "Let them come in here where there's more places for us to hide."

To demonstrate, I crouch out of sight. I'm pretty relieved when Myles follows suit.

Peering around the corner of a cubicle wall, I can clearly see when the source of the noise enters the room.

_Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me,_  I think when I catch sight of the two males.  _If that's not proof that God has a sense of humor, I don't know what is._

One guy is young, maybe the same age as Myles.

And the other is my dear old pal Mr. Blue.


	9. Remember Me?

**Remember Me?**

Myles jumps the gun when he sees another feral male in the same space as himself.

I guess I'm not surprised that feral male hormones and insanity make for a pretty damn aggressive little cocktail.

He springs to his feet, blocking the door and placing himself in view of our visitors. It immediately gets their full attention, of course. With a sigh I hop up onto the cubicle wall, balancing with ease to observe our opponents more clearly.

These two, I have to assume, are members of the infamous X-Men. They're both wearing dark blue uniforms, with splashes of yellow- kinda gaudy in my opinion, but I'm really starting to think that mutants as a whole have terrible taste in fashion. The younger guy has a weird visor over his eyes, obscuring the upper part of his face.

And then there's my old buddy next to him, of course.

He looks exactly the way I remember him from that day in Paris- tall and musclebound, gorgeous eyes and fur. Only better now, because he's not half-drowned and trapped like an animal at the zoo.

_I wonder if he recognizes me?_

As the thought crosses my mind, Mr. Blue's gaze shifts over to mine. There's no flash of recognition in his eyes, no sign that he remembers me at all.

Ok then. I'm not disappointed, I'm not.

Oh, who am I kidding? Hell yeah, I'm disappointed.

_Some people,_  I tell myself bitterly.  _You'd think he'd remember the girl who saved his life, right? I mean, he seemed appreciative enough at the time, but apparently not enough to recognize me now, jeez._

I'll admit it- my feelings are a little hurt.

Which is completely stupid, I know, because even if Mr. Blue  _did_  recognize me, I'd still have to stop him from getting through this door. I saved his life, and now I might have to kick his ass from here to Canada. But as miffed as I am, I can still appreciate the irony of it all.

_Yeah, hi, do you recognize me? I_ saved _your ass, remember?_

You have no idea how tempting it is to say that aloud. I can't hold back a grin at just the thought of it.

Mr. Blue frowns at me-

And then his buddy sends a freaking  _laser beam_  at Myles with his goddamn  _eyes_. What kind of crazy-ass power is  _that_?

Myles darts out of the way, leaving the path to the doorway wide open. Mr. Blue makes a run for it, moving with surprising speed and grace for a guy his size. Right into range for a boot straight to the dome.

He's just starting to turn his head towards me when I land a flying kick to his face. The hit is so hard that it makes him stumble and lose his footing for a second, long enough for me get into position between him and the door.

Meanwhile, Myles has gone after the laser beam guy and is focused on ripping into him with his claws. Great.

_Would it be weird if I tell Tall-Blue-and-Furry to go save his buddy before my brother turns him into a filet?_  I ask myself.  _Probably._

Mr. Blue glances over at our fighting companions before turning his gaze to me. I can tell he's assessing me, my ability to stop him from getting by.

_Don't even think about it, dude._

"You cannot pass," I say aloud, grinning.

He frowns in puzzlement, like he feels like he should know where that quote came from. It makes me wonder if he's read  _The Lord of the Rings_ too.

And I can't help noticing that he looks  _really_  cute when he's confused. Not exactly a thought I should be having right now, not when-

Mr. Blue darts to my right, obviously trying to beat me through sheer speed. Like that's going to happen.

I fling my legs out right when he passes, tangling them with his and then twisting so he lands flat on his back. I go in to knock him out, but as I do he lifts up his legs-

_Wait, are his feet shaped like hands? Yeah, they are. That's-_

The moment of distraction makes me hesitate, long enough for Mr. Blue to use those hand-feet to throw me across the room. I think he expects me to crash and burn, but I don't. I land on my feet and make a standing leap onto his back from several yards away, so he won't sense my footfalls approaching.

I have him in a sleeper hold before he can even take a step towards the door. And it's  _really_  fucking aggravating that he doesn't even react much to me having an arm around his goddamn throat, like he doesn't think I'm a threat.

_That's your mistake, Mr. Blue._

I press harder, and I feel his knees immediately wobble.

_See? Take that, Fluffy._

But before I can get him fully unconscious, the furry bastard steps backwards and slams me against the wall. I see stars for a second- that  _really_  fucking hurt, ok?- and the impact is enough to make me lose my breath  _and_  my grip on his big, fat head.

He turns and pins me by my wrists. He's so much taller than me that my feet are easily six inches off the ground when he presses me into the wall with his muscular frame.

Ok, now I'm scared.

This guy's a feral male, and I'm a feral female. Ferals in general are rare enough, but I know females like me are like fucking Santa Claus.

What will he do now that he has one in his grasp, knowing that he may never find another? Right now he's got me trapped, he's much stronger than me, and he can do whatever the hell he wants to me.

It doesn't help that there's a niggling feeling in the back of my head telling me to- to  _submit_  to whatever he decides to do. I guess my feral instincts, my inner animal likes that he's obviously a dominant male and all that bullshit.

My inner animal can go fuck herself on that one. That situation would be wrong on too many levels to even count.

So even though he's absurdly handsome- God, I could stare into those sunset eyes for days- right now I'm scared of him, and scared of my own body's reaction to him.

And that  _really_  pisses me off.

I growl at him, baring my fangs in warning-

Mr. Blue's eyes suddenly widen in surprise. "It's you," he gasps, clearly astounded.

_There we go._  Finally  _you recognize me, huh?_

Ok, maybe I was too hard on him before. I wasn't wearing makeup that day in Paris, and lately I've been favoring dark eye shadow and red lips (mostly as a big "fuck you" to current trends. I mean, blue eye shadow?  _Blue_? I'm pretty sure we're all going to look back at this decade and wonder what the hell we were thinking).

But the makeup makes me look less like a sweet little girl, which is basically the point. Small wonder he didn't recognize me until he got closer. I guess.

His expression completely changes now that he knows me, his incredulity morphing into this sort of tentative joy that lights up his whole face without him even cracking a smile. Mr Blue's happy he found me, I can tell. He obviously has a soft spot for me, thanks to me saving his life and all. Maybe I have one for him, too.

But that doesn't matter right now- I still have a mission to complete.

As if my thought recalls him back to the current situation ( _hello, you're still pinning me to a wall here_ ), Mr. Blue's delight quickly fades to disappointment. This isn't exactly the stuff happy reunions are made of, right?

Still, his reaction has given me an idea for a plan to get away.

"I was wondering when you'd recognize me," I tell him, grinning wryly.

"You remember me?" he asks, and he looks so vulnerable that I almost feel sorry for what I have to do.

I chuckle and smile coyly, flirting for all I'm worth. "Of course," I reply. "You're a little unforgettable, Mr. Blue."

"Beast," he supplies, and the poor thing looks almost mesmerized.

Oh, this is too easy.

"Beast," I repeat, giving it my best Marilyn Monroe impression.

Here goes-

I close the small distance between our faces and kiss him.

For a split second there I'm a little worried that my-  _feminine wiles,_  I guess you can say- had no effect on him, and this isn't going to work after all.

But then his lips start moving against mine, and God, what am I supposed to be doing again? The way his mouth molds to mine, so warm and just the perfect amount of pressure, makes me quiver all over inside.

There's no stopping the contented little purr that escapes me as I deepen the kiss. The noise Beast makes in response, this low rumble deep in his chest when he starts to kiss me harder, makes me glad there for a second that he's holding me up. Otherwise I would've melted.

After a minute his hands drop, sliding down my arms, along my back to rest on my waist. My hands are now free, allowing me to run my claws through his hair. Beast shivers slightly and clutches me even closer, but I don't mind. My feet are finally touching the ground again, and I'm pressing against him just as hard.

You'd think that it'd be awkward because he's almost a solid foot taller than me, but no. Our bodies fit together perfectly. Just like our mouths, and the way his fangs brush along my lips- it's all perfect.

_Alright, Babineaux. It worked, he let your hands go. Back to business._

Jesus, it's like I just dumped a bucket of ice water on myself. I forgot the plan there for a minute (or five). But I guess that's saying something, if you can fool someone so well that you fool yourself too.

I let my hands drift down to cup his face between them, my thumbs making soothing circles on his cheeks. Then one hand moves down- slowly, so he doesn't notice- and reaches for one of my knives.

"I'm sorry," I murmur regretfully against his lips.

"For what?" Beast asks, his eyes still closed. And he kisses me again, all adorably clueless.

Ugh, why does he have to be so damn cute?

I reach up and pop him in the temple with the handle of my knife so hard he drops like a rock. "For that," I reply, with a heavy sigh.

Beast doesn't answer- he's too busy clutching the goose egg already forming on his head.

Since he's no longer a threat I take a second to survey what's going on between Myles and the other guy.

It's... it's pretty bad.

My brother is tearing his opponent apart, slowly but surely. The guy wearing the silly-looking visor- in my head I dub him "Cyclops"- already has so many bleeding wounds that I give him props for still being on his feet.

Alright, I need to end this before Myles kills him.  _Without_  triggering some sort of spaz attack.

_"We're done. Time to go,"_  Peter's voice says through the radio I have strapped to my hip.  _"Hurry up before I get bored!"_

I roll my eyes over his impatience, but I'm actually rather glad for the timely interruption. At least now I have an excuse to stop Myles.

I pull my knife out and throw it at Cyclops' head, aiming it just right so it hits him handle first. He collapses, unconscious, without even knowing what hit him.

"Vixen," Myles whines, clearly mad at me. Like I fucking care. "What was that-?"

"You're being needlessly cruel," I snap. "Now come on. It's time to go."

He lets out an irritated sigh, but thankfully he doesn't argue with me. He grabs my knife and tosses it to me without another word, though I can tell he's still grumpy because I ruined his...  _entertainment_.

It makes me wonder if the the Brotherhood really is the right place for him? For  _me_?

I feel a pang of regret as I glance back at Beast, still trying to regain his bearings, on our way out.

That was definitely a reunion neither of us expected.


	10. Collateral Damage

**Collateral Damage**

The Brotherhood is in high spirits when we get back to base. My brothers and Peter, especially, take a lot of time and joy in rehashing and reliving every little detail of our victory tonight.

I don't really see the need to gloat- I mean, we just beat up a bunch of other mutants. Our own kind. That doesn't seem like a good cause for celebration to me, X-Men or not.

But it's pretty clear that none of the others share my opinion on that point, so I decide to keep it to myself.

"-And then I dislocated his arm. He dropped like a rock," James concludes proudly. "What about you, Myles?"

"I beat up this kid with a visor," our brother replies.

"Cyclops," Peter supplies helpfully.

I snort back a chuckle. You know your nickname _has_  to be bad when someone gets it right when they're actually trying to insult you.

"He was bleeding all over the place," Myles says, his face shining with this morbid glee that creeps me the fuck out.

I'm thinking about making my exit- I don't want to listen to this shit anymore- when Peter turns to me.

"Who'd you take on, Vixie?"

"The blue feral guy," I reply hesitantly.

"That's Beast," Peter explains. "That's Charles Xavier's right hand guy. He-"

"Wait, a feral?" James interjects, frowning. He eyes me with laser-like focus, as if he's checking for some sort of damage. "He- he didn't uh,  _hurt_  you, did he, sis?"

I roll my eyes. "No, of course not," I assure him. "Thanks for the concern, brother. I'm touched."

But not really. Something about the almost...  _possessive_  look in his eyes just seems off to me somehow. Or maybe it's like the source of his concern doesn't feel like it's coming from the right place? It's a little much, even for my over-protective brother. I don't know, but I don't like it.

I manage to excuse myself soon after that, taking refuge in my room so I can be alone with my own thoughts.

Poor Beast probably hates me now for taking advantage of him tonight, using his gratitude towards me after Paris against him like that. And I can't say I blame him, all things considered. I tricked him, plain and simple. I manipulated him once he figured out who I was. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.

It's not like I had a choice, though. I was just doing what I had to to get away from him, you know? And it's not as if I  _owe_  Beast anything. I saved his ass, so after this I guess you can say we're back at square one with each other.

That's what I keep telling myself, at least.

Truth be told- I liked kissing him, far more than I should have. The way his lips felt, his scent, how our bodies fit together so perfectly... Even if it was a ruse on my part, the connection that I felt between us was definitely real.

But it doesn't matter, does it? He's going to hate me now, and that's probably for the best, anyway. He's an X-Man, I'm with the Brotherhood.

We're enemies now, and that's that.

* * *

March 20, 1974

My next outing is a solo mission- not because Magneto wants me to go out alone, but because I pretty much ignore his instructions to take someone with me.

I'm not very good at following directions, ok?

Especially not on something that I _know_  I can take care of myself. I don't need a babysitter when I'm just going out to delete a list of known mutants' locations from a company's computer hard drives. It's going to be a cakewalk.

And it is, at first.

There's only one security guard keeping watch of the whole place, and he's not doing a real good job. He's too busy gorging himself on Twinkies and Coke, from the smell of it.

I don't even bother engaging him- I just sneak right on past him, into the server room.

"Here we go," I murmur to myself, and get to work.

I brought a set of screwdrivers and a degaussing wand with me to completely wipe the hard drives of the six computers in front of me. I figure it's a lot quicker than picking through the system on each and every one to find the right files and then overwriting all of it. No mess, no fuss.

Sure enough, I'm done within fifteen minutes. I've just finished putting the last server back into place when I hear footsteps just outside of the room.

Aw, fuck.

I duck out of sight under a desk on the opposite side of the room just as the door swings open, so I can't even see who's invading my space. Friend or foe? I can't tell.

"I'll stand lookout," I hear an unfamiliar male voice say after a moment.

So there's at least two, great. Just great.

Ok, maybe I'm re-thinking the whole "lone wolf" thing right now. A little, at least.

The door swings shut, and I listen closely for a minute or two to figure out how many more people there are in here with me. I can only hear one set of lungs breathing, one heart beating.

Alright, that helps a little. I'm pretty sure I can take almost anyone down- or at least evade them- one-on-one, especially if it's just a human punk.

I hear a sigh and the sound of someone settling into a chair. After a few minutes I chance a peek over the desk I'm hiding behind-

Oh, are you  _fucking_  kidding me?

It's Beast.

Well there goes getting out of here cleanly.

I'm not delusional- I know that as a fellow feral he's going to sense me if I try to make a move for the door, whether I try stealthy or an all-out run for it. And I also know the only reason I managed to beat Beast last time was because I tricked him.

Damn, it hurts my pride to admit that.

Well, maybe he'll just let me go? I mean, if he's here to get rid of the mutant list (and I think it's safe to assume he is), if he finds out I've done it for him...

I decide it's worth a shot.

Beast is so intent on his task that he doesn't notice me for a moment after I stand up. He has a thoughtful frown on his face, and as I watch he lets out a frustrated grunt and tips his chair back, clearly pondering the wiped state of the computers.

"Admiring my handiwork?" I ask.

He startles and falls backward into a snarling heap.

_Oops._

I contemplate making a run for it at that moment, but he recovers his feet too quickly. So instead I lean back against the wall with my arms crossed, trying to look casual while keeping my guard up all the same.

"What are you doing here?" Beast asks sullenly.

He's clearly grumpy over looking like an idiot in front of me, but how is that my fault? And then, yeah, he's probably still mad about what happened last time, too. He's not going to fall for that again.

I know I'm out of freebies with this guy, so I'm going to keep it cordial if I can.

"So rude," I murmur.

"You _did_  try to lobotomize my temporal lobe the last time I saw you," he replies stiffly.

I snort at his petulance. "Did not," I retort. "You're a feral- a strong one, too. I know how hard I hit you. You should've been fine by the next evening."

Beast purses his lips, like he knows I'm right but doesn't want to admit it. Typical guy, not wanting to accept he's wrong.

I smile teasingly. " _I_  think you're upset because I kissed you," I observe, watching his reaction closely. "Which is a pity. It was a great kiss."

Honest to God, his cheeks turn purple in a blush as he looks away from me. Yes, he thought it was great, even if he's going to be too stubborn to say it aloud.

Don't ask me why that matters to me, but it does. Even though he probably thinks I'm just toying with him.

Beast grunts, rather than answering. "What are you doing here, Vixen?" he repeats, only more polite this time.

Well fine then.

"The same thing as you," I reply briskly. "Deleting files. I just finished, though, and was about to leave when you waltzed in. What was your plan, exactly? Overwriting? How tedious."

"What method did  _you_  use, then?" he demands.

"A little hardware," I tell him, pulling the tools out of my pocket.

To my surprise, Beast shakes his head in disgust when he realizes what I did. "You destroyed this entire company," he accuses. "Think of all the people who work here. Not all of them can be bad. This list could just be the work of  _one_  person, and you've gone and ruined the lives of-"

His flat-out condemnation makes my temper flare. "Oh, spare me the righteous indignation," I snap, glaring at him. "Are you X-Men really that weak, that you're concerned over the livelihood of people who are a danger to our kind? The people who work here can get new jobs. Or they can choose to rebuild this company from the ground up. It'll take time, yeah, but hopefully by that time the status quo will have changed and it won't even matter that they were compiling that list. Until then, consider this as acceptable collateral damage."

"There's no such thing as 'acceptable' collateral damage," Beast replies coldly. "'Collateral damage' is just a term lazy people use to excuse their actions when they result in unnecessary pain and death. You can try to make yourself feel better by calling it that, but putting an absurd label on the consequences of what you just did doesn't make you any less guilty."

The fucking  _nerve_  of this bastard!

I kinda felt like Wanda was exaggerating when she talked about the X-Men before, but now I get what she was saying. The employees of this company are alive and well, and can go find other jobs. They're not  _dead_ , cut open on tables like mutants all over the place are because someone snitched on them to some mad scientist asshole. And this guy's worried about Joe Shmoe not getting a goddamn paycheck? What the hell is wrong with him?

I sneer at him in disgust. "You know what? I'm done here. You're welcome for doing your damn job for you," I tell him, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Now excuse me, you sanctimonious prick."

Beast snorts in derision, which just pisses me off more. "Be my guest," he says, gesturing towards the door.

I'm hesitant as I approach the exit, having no other choice than to get closer to him, too. I half-expect him to attack me, but he doesn't move.

Dimly, I realize that he doesn't want to fight me any more than I want to fight him.

But before I open the door I hesitate, remembering that Beast has a buddy on guard out there. Another X-Man, just what I need right now.

"Who's the mouth breather outside?" I ask through clenched teeth.

"The brother of the man you knocked out last time," Beast replies acidly.

He's just _determined_  to infer the worst motivation in everything I do, isn't he? What I did was an act of fucking  _mercy_  for the Cyclops kid, considering how Myles was tearing him up. But no, that's not how Beast sees it, of course not.

I snarl in frustration and turn to scowl at him. "Did you see what my brother was doing to that boy?" I ask, hackles raising. "Would you rather your buddy have a bump on the head or be turned into mutant sashimi?"

"I'd rather not have fought in the first place," he says. He's so self-righteous it makes me want to barf.

"Your little friend started it when he fired the first shot," I hiss.

"Actually,  _you_  started it by trying to steal that Agent Orange," he counters childishly, voice rising. "We were just trying to-"

And that's the moment the other X-Man decides to burst right though the door.

Perfect, just fucking perfect.


	11. Not Your Average Joe

**Not Your Average Joe**

It's pretty obvious this X-Loser heard me and Beast arguing and came charging to the rescue.

I jump back several yards when he bursts through the door, landing on my feet with a snarl.

"Havok, don't-!" Beast calls out.

His buddy- Havok, apparently- doesn't listen. He raises his arm and sends a red laser beam right at me, but thankfully I'm faster than he is.

I leap out of the way behind one of the computer desks, but the beam follows me. It turns the computer into a melted pile of plastic and sets the desk on fire. Smooth, real smooth.

And _I'm_  the destructive one, right? At least I left the hardware intact, for fuck's sake.

The fire is sure to set off an alarm, though, and alarms inevitably bring cops. I need to get out of here,  _quickly_ , before the fuzz shows up. And there's only one way out that I can see.

I jump out from behind the desk and onto Beast's back. As I fly through the air I pull one of my knives, so when I land I have it ready to hold against his neck, right under his jaw. My other arm wraps around his lower throat, and my legs lock around his waist to fully secure him.

Beast immediately freezes- I bet he can feel how sharp the blade is, even through his fur.

"Nice going, genius," I snap at Havok. "Now we'll be lucky to get out of here before the fire department shows up."

Sure enough, the fire alarm goes off just then. It's piercing to my sensitive hearing, and I bet it's not much better for Beast.

Havok sneers at me. I tuck my head more behind Beast's, because I can tell the blonde bastard is thinking about his chances of hitting me with another shot without hurting his teammate.

"Despite what you  _clearly_  think, I don't like hurting people," I murmur to Beast. "I will if I have to, though. Don't make me."

I'm telling him the truth, whether he decides to believe me or not. I didn't want to fight him before, and even now, after he pissed me off so badly, I still don't. It's a fight I'm pretty sure I'd lose, and it's not like I'm interested in testing that theory.

And now the circumstances are even  _more_  not in my favor. I'm alone, outnumbered, and backed into a corner by these two. I'm doing what I have to do to get out of here without Havok turning me into a crispy critter.

"Havok, Vixen is going to get off my back and walk out of here, and you're not going to attack her," Beast says seriously. I'm surprised he believed me, but glad for it.

"Or what?" Havok demands.

"Or I slit his throat and come for you next," I snarl. I can take this bastard, I know I can. I just don't _want_  to. Like I said, I hate hurting people if I can avoid it.

Havok looks unconvinced. I can see his fingers twitching-

But before I can get nervous about that, Beast moves sideways towards the door. He keeps his body between his teammate- who's looking at him like he just lost his marbles- and myself, protecting me.

He uses his hand-foot to swing the door just wide enough for me to slip through.

"Thanks," I whisper.

And then I get the hell out of Dodge.

* * *

I'm still in a really bad mood when I get back to base.

"Hey, Vixie," Peter says cheerfully, appearing in my room the way he always does. "How'd it go?"

"Knock, Peter," I snap.

Looking properly chastised, he disappears again. A second later I hear a knock on the door.

"Can I come in?" he asks through the door.

I really don't feel like talking, but the fact that he's actually waiting outside instead of just barging in here the way he usually does makes me relent. "Sure," I agree sullenly.

Peter appears again, this time sitting on my bed. Even though he's not a very perceptive guy, he can still tell something's wrong. "What happened?" he asks.

"The X-Men," I mutter.

He jumps to his feet. "Did someone hurt you?"

I roll my eyes. "No," I reply. Why do all of them worry about that all the time, jeez? "Of course not. They just pissed me off is all. Bunch of fucking hypocrites. That Beast guy had the balls to accuse me of fucking over that company, when Havok is the one who destroyed a bunch of equipment. What kind of bullshit is that, right?"

It's not the only reason I'm angry, but that's all I'm going to share with Peter.

While I half-listen to him verbally abuse the X-Men I let my thoughts drift away, back to the night's events.

The way Beast assumed such terrible things about me made me so, _so_ mad. And he was such a holier-than-thou prick about everything, Jesus. Like he's the alpha and omega of righteousness. It's not like I was threatening anyone's lives- if anything,  _Havok_  did by setting shit on fire- and yet I'm the bad guy, according to him.

I'm the bad guy, and yet Beast believed me when I told him I didn't want to hurt him. And then he actually helped me escape. But why? Because he still feels he owes me after Paris? I mean, its obviously not because he realized I was trying to do the right thing, of course not. Apparently I'm not capable of that, in his mind.

Why do I even care what he thinks about me, anyway?  _Do_  I care?

I really wish I had an answer.

"Come on, Peter," I say suddenly. "I feel like making a cake, and you're going to help me eat it."

"I am?"

"Yup," I tell him.

He gives me a charming, boyish grin. "You don't have to tell me twice."

And he whisks me away to the kitchen.

* * *

Just one fun (and often very annoying) fact about ferals: we're a competitive, territorial bunch.

For me it's not so bad- I'm pretty good at keeping my instincts under control most of the time, and it helps that I've never even met another female feral before. I don't know how I'd react if I did.

But feral males... As a general rule, they can't stand to be around each other. They view other ferals as an encroachment on their territorial dominance or some bullshit like that. They're likely to try to kill each other to take away the threat and assure their own supremacy. Basically, take your most aggressive, obnoxious high school jock and multiply it by a million. Then add some murderous sprinkles, and you've got a feral male.

Or at least you have my brothers. Typical feral males, both of them, from what I've seen of our kind.

Now James and Myles squabble between themselves pretty often, yeah, but that's  _nothing_  to how James reacts when he meets Beast in the field for the first time. Coming across a feral male who's not related to him sets off every aggressive instinct in my brother's whacked out brain.

The sounds of the fight when they run into each other carry to my ears from all the way across the office building we're breaking into. I immediately set out in search of my brother when I hear his snarls, prepared to help him if I can.

But that still doesn't stop my first thought from being,  _Oh_ , _great. What has he gotten into this time?_

Staying out of sight, I arrive just in time to see my brother- bruised all over the place- launch himself at Beast's retreating back.

The blue feral turns at just the right moment and knocks James out with one punch. A sharp crack echoing through the air tells me the blow broke my brother's nose, even as he drops to the floor like a rag doll.

I watch in secret as Beast looks down at his unconscious opponent and sighs. He gingerly kneels down- it looks like James got some licks in on him as well- and maneuvers James' body so he's sitting up with his head tilted forward.

_So he doesn't drown in his own blood,_  I realize, eyeing the blood steadily gushing from my brother's nose.  _Well I'll be damned._

I'm pretty sure that's not something you see too often- a guy helping an enemy out after kicking his ass. Not only that, but from my vantage point it looked like Beast was trying to escape the situation before James pressed the issue.

I can promise you that's not how this would've gone were the situation reversed. My brother wouldn't stop at knocking another feral male out, let alone help him afterwards. He'd finish the guy, plain and simple. And he definitely wouldn't be avoiding the confrontation in the first place.

Beast, obviously, is not your average feral male.

* * *

It's an observation that's reinforced as the months go by.

I notice him, ok? I mean, he's blue, furry, and over six feet tall- like a gigantic version of the Cookie Monster. He's really hard to ignore.

Though I hate to admit it, the more I watch Beast, the more I actually kinda...  _respect_  him. He has a sense of honor in what he does- how he treats not only the Brotherhood, but our human enemies as well. What he did with James is a perfect example.

Unfortunately he's also almost unbearably self-righteous and naive about humans, but I can tell he's not stupid.

His apparently absolute conviction makes me uncomfortable in some ways. I guess in a way I kinda envy having that sort of faith in something, to keep believing despite all evidence to the contrary. That's what Beast has.

The rest of the X-Men have it too, but they're not as principled as he is. You'd never see that Cannonball guy stopping to check if he killed Mastermind after a head-on collision, and I wonder if that Storm girl realizes that lightning  _fucking kills people_. It should be a weapon of absolute last resort, not her go-to method of dealing with an opponent.

I guess I can't rag on them too much without being a hypocrite, though. My teammates in the Brotherhood... I don't really approve of everything they're doing nowadays.

I mean, I'm definitely no angel, but I  _do_  try to avoid killing people and wrecking stuff if I can. Sometimes it happens in the line of duty, though, and when it does I feel terrible about it (with the obvious exception of Stryker, of course. I know I won't feel bad when I take  _him_  out). But I don't shrug everything off like Peter and Wanda, or practically revel in it like my brothers and Mastermind do.

All I can do is pray that all of this is worth it in the end. That what we're working for- mutant equality, respect from humanity, an  _end_  to the persecution all of us face- is eventually achieved.

Then, and only then, will I feel like the sacrifices of people and property made during the fight will have meaning.


	12. The Set-Up

**The Set-Up**

Jun 21, 1974

For over a week I've been doing surveillance on one of Stryker's laboratories, and tonight Magneto finally gave us all the ok to make our move.

The goal is to rescue any test subjects we find, but if the mad scientist himself happens to be here I'm going to make sure he doesn't come out alive. For over a year now I've wanted to stop that bastard, and tonight may finally be the night.

Or... _not_.

I can tell something's weird as soon as we get inside.

For one thing, there's no security guards and the lights are all on. No one in their right mind would leave a bunch of test subjects unguarded unless they were heavily sedated to stop escape attempts. But what about warding off people trying to break them out, like we are? And the lights, why are they on if no one's here?

Something doesn't smell right.

The distinct lack of test subjects- sedated or otherwise- is another clue that something's off.

Still, we give it our best shot. All six of us systematically clear the rooms, a throw back to the days when James and I were still searching for Myles. We find no one, not even an asshole military scientist to put out of my misery.

I  _do_ , however, find a bunch of blood samples and paperwork that I'd rather Stryker not have at his disposal in the future.

"Go on without me," I tell Myles. "Find Fox and Mastermind. I'll be quick."

He's happy enough to leave me- I think lately Myles has been considering me a bit of a killjoy- and I set to work.

I'm busy pouring bleach on some slides and have a good little paperwork blaze going when I'm suddenly interrupted.

The door opens without the preceding notification tap we Brotherhood members give to make sure we know it's a teammate trying to come in. Anyone who doesn't make that noise is a potential enemy.

Instinctively I reach for a knife and get ready to send it flying at the doorway before I even look up all the way. It's already about to leave my fingertips when I realize who it is standing there.

Beast.

_Shit._

I barely manage to misdirect my knife at the last possible microsecond. Instead of killing Beast, it lands blade-first in the wall right next to his head.

His eyes widen in shock and his breathing catches, a delayed reaction to having a knife go whizzing by his face. I can't say I blame him for that.

But hey, he surprised me. Not completely my fault, either.

_Would he believe me if I just said "oops, my bad?" Probably not._

Keeping that in mind I back away from the lab bench and shift into a defensive position, ready for him to retaliate against me over the knife mishap.

"I'm going to assume that was caused by an overabundance of caution," he says after a moment.

I nod shortly- that's exactly what it was.

A ridiculously awkward silence falls between us.

I mean, the last time we actually spoke he accused me of being lazy and causing unnecessary pain and death. And I threatened to kill him.

You know, maybe "awkward" is actually an understatement.

"What are you doing here?" I finally ask, to break the ice. Otherwise we might be in this weird little stand-off forever. My voice is tense, but can you blame me?

"Trying to liberate test subjects," Beast replies. "We haven't been able to find any, though. We ran into some of your people rather quickly."

Eyes focused on me, he slowly, deliberately reaches up and pulls my knife from the wall.

I tense up automatically just in case, but he seems to be making a point of being non-threatening.

To my supreme surprise Beast carefully walks over to the bench between us and lays the knife as far on my side as he can reach before backing away to the door again.

Ok, this is definitely interesting.

I allow myself to relax just a little, though I'm kinda confused on why he gave me back my knife. Is this one of those weird X-Men things? I can only imagine. Still, I'm willing to play nice if he is.

"We haven't been able to find any, either," I tell him. "I think they moved them out earlier today. This stuff-"

I gesture to my little burn pile.

"-Was left behind, but I decided it's better to be safe than sorry."

He nods in agreement.

_Oh wow, I have your approval? That means so much. Really,_  so  _much_.

I keep the comment to myself, though, not wanting to break the uneasy peace. Instead I carefully step closer to the table separating us and pick up my knife. Beast tenses up a little, but I pointedly put away the weapon instead of attacking him.

I mean, it's the least I can do after he decided not to take the almost-knife-to-the-head personally.

I'm about to ask him how long he plans on standing there like a creeper when a huge explosion rocks the entire building.

_Oh shit._

"One of yours?" I ask.

Beast shakes his head. "Yours?"

"Nope."

For a long moment we just stare at each other, unsure of what to do. Beast looks like he's unwilling to make the first move for whatever reason- maybe he doesn't believe me on the explosion thing or something.

Well then, looks like I'm gonna have to take the lead on this one. Great.

I sigh and walk around the table, still ready to defend myself from him if I need to.

But apparently I don't.

Beast follows me out of the room with nary a threatening move.

Once we're out we can see that one hallway is completely blocked with debris. It's obvious we can't get by, and pretty much just as obvious that it was intentionally done.

Looks like it's just Beast and I, then.

But why?

I growl quietly. "I don't like this," I mutter.

I glance over at Beast, asking the silent question.

He nods. Without a word we both turn on our heels and head in the opposite direction, because what other choice do we have?

We walk quickly, silently. I pull out a pair of knives as we go, but Beast doesn't seem threatened. For now we're working together, as crazy as that sounds.

After a few minutes we reach a T-junction, where we pause.

Now that we're not moving I can hear... almost a ticking sound?

I hold my hand up when it looks like Beast is going to say something. "You hear that?" I murmur.

Listening harder, I can definitely tell it's a ticking sound.

Almost like a-

Beast launches himself at me, the blue of his fur a stark contrast to the explosion blooming out behind him. He covers me like a furry mutant shield as we go skidding down the hallway, debris flying in all directions.

_Well that was definitely unexpected._

He protected me. He actually protected me.

He's also currently squishing me into the floor with his entire body weight, so forgive me if I hold back on the gratitude for the moment.

"Are you ok?" Beast asks, his breathing just as unsteady as mine.

"There's a three hundred pound fur ball on me, but otherwise I'm grand," I reply- rather uncharitably, I'll admit. But his handsome face is only inches from mine, and he just saved me. I'm afraid I might do something kinda stupid to show my thanks.

"I only weigh two twenty-five," he retorts, with the air of someone reciting a repeated excuse.

I can't help chuckling at that.

Then Beast gets off of me and even offers me a polite hand up, which I ignore. The gentleman act is making me uneasy for some reason.

"Thanks, for that," I reluctantly tell him once we're both standing.

"You're welcome," he replies awkwardly. At least he's not going to gloat about it.

"Now what?" I ask, after a glance around. Our options are starting to look pretty damn limited.

Beast thinks on that for a moment. "I'm starting to get the sinking suspicion that we're being herded."

"I'm starting to feel the same way," I agree, putting my knives away. "Might be time to try to run for it."

"Agreed."

Together we begin to run, trying to use our speed to outrun the explosions. No such luck.

We're quickly boxed in and forced to go through a laboratory into another hallway, where yet another explosion forces us to the left. It's eerie, how they're going off only when we come close.

"How are they even tracking us?" I growl. "Do you think it's pressure triggers in the floor, or-?"

"This lab is owned by Major William Stryker," Beast replies. "He was helping Bolivar Trask with his Sentinel program, which had the ability to identify mutant DNA. Perhaps he's using it now to keep tabs on us."

It's as good an explanation as any, but it doesn't account for how it's targeting the two of us. Was it just a "wrong place, wrong time" situation, or is something else going on?

Something like... a program identifying ferals, for example?

"Some things never change," I mutter, thinking of Stryker's feral obsession.

_Just perfect. At least things can't get any worse, right?_  I think.

And then the fucking floor gives way below us, falling away in one solid piece like it just  _vanished_.

I snarl in surprise and manage to grasp onto the edge of the hole where the floor used to be with my fingertips, but Beast is too far away to reach.

Without even thinking about it I reach out and grab onto his wrist, stopping him from falling.

He might be an X-Man, but I couldn't just let him drop like that. I mean, who even knows what's down there, where it's too dark to see? And besides, I kinda owe him one after the whole protecting-me-from-an-exploding-bomb thing.

Of course, I start to rethink my decision a little when I feel my wrist pop out of place.

_Ow. Fucking_ ow.

"Only two twenty-five? You're such a liar," I hiss through clenched teeth. My claws are digging into both his flesh and the linoleum on the edge, straining to keep us both from falling, but I'm pretty sure my shoulder's about to go. This is no picnic, I can tell you. "What do you see down there?"

Beast looks down. "I can't see anything," He tells me. "Here, try to swing me over so I can grab onto the edge."

"Easier said than done," I mutter.

But I do try. I just  _can't_. Even if I  _was_  strong enough to get that sort of momentum going on a good day, with my wrist being so fucked up now it's basically impossible.

_Dammit. How about next time we end up hanging over a dark abyss_ , you  _grab onto the edge, Fur Ball?_

The snide comments to myself obviously don't help any, but I don't give up. I'm still trying when we hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

_Oh God. What if that's Stryker?_

I look down at Beast, and all I can think of is what happened to Myles, what happens to any feral Stryker gets his hands on. What will happen to  _us_.

"Well, well- what do we have here?" a male voice says. I recognize it instantly.

Right now we are well and truly fucked.

Stryker's rat face appears over the edge of the pit we're stuck in, and both of us snarl up at him automatically.

"Two for the price of one. I like it when I get two birds in one trap," he says, with this smirk I just want to claw right off his smarmy-looking face.

It sinks in then that this whole place was a set-up. The test subjects, this lab- all of it was just bait to lure in more playthings for Stryker. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"And a female feral, too. I've never seen one of you before."

Below me Beast growls in warning.

Nice to know chivalry isn't dead or whatever, but his reaction isn't exactly helpful.

Stryker chuckles. "Testy about your girl, are you?" he asks. "Well, not to worry. I'm not so heartless as to separate a mated pair. Studying the pair of you should be quite... _educational_."

"Go to hell," I hiss- mostly because I'm terrified.

But Stryker just laughs and bends over to inject a needle into my hand. I can't do anything to stop it, not without dropping Beast.

The blackness around us immediately starts to close in on my vision. I can feel all my muscles going weak, refusing to obey my commands to just hold on for dear life. It's the scariest thing I've ever experienced.

"Vixen, fight it-" I hear Beast say, but it's like he's at the end of a tunnel.

As the darkness overcomes me, the last thing I'm conscious of is falling through the air with Beast's arms around me.


	13. Breaking the Ice

**Breaking the Ice**

 June 22, 1974

Ever wake up and feel like you're still having a nightmare?

Because that's exactly how it feels like when I open my eyes and find myself chained to a wall in a tiny, windowless, _door_ -less room. I immediately feel like I'm stuck in a box.

Once I really wake up I look around frantically and take in the metal wall and ceiling, the complete lack of furniture.

Shit.

I'm trapped in one of Stryker's labs, and I know exactly what's going to happen to me. After all, I've seen the evidence first hand. Can I keep it together under the torture, or am I going to lose my mind like Myles did?

This is worse than a nightmare, because it's  _real_.

"Sonuvabitch," I hiss, trying to tug my chains out of the wall. Not like it does anything productive, but I need a momentary outlet for how fucking pissed I am.

It takes me a second to realize that Beast is watching my hissy fit, likewise chained to the opposite wall. So at least I'm not alone, for whatever that's worth.

"Hi," he says when I finally look at him.

"Hi," I mutter sullenly. "Been awake long?"

He shakes his head. "Not much longer than you," he replies impassively. Seriously, his calm is kinda annoying. But then again, maybe I'm just looking for someone to share the misery here. "I definitely have no idea where we are, anyway."

"We're in one of Stryker's  _many_  labs," I explain with a sigh.

"It sounds like you've seen the inside of one before," Beast observes.

I wince, because he's all too right. "Not as a prisoner."

He tilts his head, telegraphing his curiosity. "Care to explain?"

_Not particularly, Mr. Nosy._

That's what I want to say. But part of me realizes that Beast is in deep shit here right along with me, and he should probably have full disclosure on what's going to happen once Stryker's cronies come for us. It's only fair.

But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

"Have you ever noticed that Jackal is a little..."

Unstable? Batshit crazy? Bonkers?

"Unhinged?" Beast offers.

I scowl in spite of myself, hearing it stated so baldly. God, is Myles' insanity that obvious to everyone?

"That's not the word I would use, but yes, he's a little..." I agree reluctantly. It still hurts to admit it aloud, like giving voice to the issue makes it more powerful and real. "He didn't used to be like that. It's only happened since Stryker got a hold of him."

Beast stares at me.

"Stryker has a thing for ferals," I explain. "It's our healing factor, I think. But anyway, Stryker caught Jackal and tortured him. It took me some time, but I was able to break him out. He hasn't been the same, since."

"So you were in Paris for revenge?"

Well, ouch.

"No," I retort, frowning. "I was still trying to track my brother down at that point. I saw you and knew if you were caught you'd be next, so that's why I helped you out. But  _revenge_... what a useless motivation. It doesn't bring anyone back. It doesn't make you feel better. I have no use for it."

I learned that the hard way, watching James kill the posse that murdered our parents. Their deaths brought me no peace afterwards, and it sure as hell didn't make my parents any less dead.

Just thinking about that time has me backsliding into a paralyzing depression, and that's definitely not going to get us out of this mess. This is  _not_  a good time to have a nervous breakdown.

_Come on, Babineaux. No dwelling on the past when the present is fucked up enough._

We need to get out of here, but first things first: getting out of these chains.

"Do you like to read?" I ask Beast.

"Yes," he replies uncertainly. "Why do you ask?"

I pointedly glance around and mouth to him, " _talk_."

God, I hope he gets it. I need some sort of noise to cover the sound of my chains moving just in case there's a bug in this room, and the only resource we have is our voices.

"I can just tell that you do," I say aloud.

"Are you saying I look like a nerd or something?"

I wasn't, but the question makes me want to play with him just a little. "Possibly. _Are_  you?"

The way Beast ducks his head bashfully is absolutely adorable. "Yes, I suppose you can say I am," he replies shyly.

He makes it too easy, you know? "Handsome  _and_  smart," I tease. "How confusing."

That was apparently a bridge too far, because he suddenly shuts up and starts to flush purple. I guess he's not used to compliments. Or flirting, for fuck's sake.

_Oh, come on, Beast! Work with me here!_

I scowl and make a motion with me hand, prompting him to speak.

"I-I actually have a doctorate," he mumbles finally, flushing further.

Ok, now I'm actually impressed- I've never met someone with a Ph.D before. So it's with a genuine curiosity that I ask him to tell me about his thesis.

Beast is hesitant at first, but he really warms to the theme after a minute or two. Science, clearly, is something that he really loves, and his enthusiasm is so strong that it draws me in and makes me want to know more.

Even though I can honestly only understand half the crap he's talking about. I mean- I ask questions, but I worry that a lot of it's over my head. That doesn't make it any less interesting, though.

Meanwhile, I brace myself and slowly lift my legs up so I can reach my boots with my hands. And Jesus Christ, it  _hurts_. Beast's fluffy ass really fucked up my wrist when we fell into that pit or whatever. I wasn't exactly conscious for the landing part.

But I have a feeling whatever Stryker has in store for us later will hurt worse, so I suck it up and keep going.

Once I get one of the bobby pins I keep in my boots out it's a piece of cake to pick the lock on the handcuffs on both my wrists and my ankles.

And then, hot damn, I'm free.

After that I take off my boots and socks and move quietly across the room to get to work on Beast's shackles, kneeling next to his feet.

Or should I call them  _hand_ -feet? They're definitely wider than regular feet, for starters. And his toes are long, like fingers, with the big toes placed just like a thumb would be on a hand.

Whatever you call them, I think they're awesome. I bet Beast can do all sorts of things with feet like that- hanging upside down, grabbing things, making a person lose their footing in a fight (something I've witnessed firsthand). He probably puts my tree climbing skills to shame, easily.

"Do you like to read, too?" Beast asks.

I grin. "It's my favorite thing to do," I admit reluctantly. It's weird to think that we have something in common.

"I thought beating up X-Men was your favorite thing to do," he retorts snidely.

Well fine, be that way.

"Shows what you know about me," I mutter. "That's my  _third_  favorite thing to do. Books are much more relaxing."

Beast laughs, and when he does a smile- the first real smile I've ever seen on him- crosses his face. It makes him even cuter, the bastard.

At this point I've freed his ankles, so I straddle his lap to get to his wrists.

His laughter cuts off rather abruptly.

Puzzled, I glance down to see why and realize that my boobs (or more accurately, my  _lack thereof_ ) are right in his face. Beast's deer-in-the-headlights reaction at my almost nonexistent cleavage is doing absolute wonders for my ego.

Again, it's too easy. I don't know what it is about this guy- maybe it's his dorky shyness or something- that makes me want to flirt with him like this, to see him turn purple and duck his head bashfully. I just do.

I clear my throat, causing him to turn his gaze upward to meet mine. I grin at his wide-eyed expression.

"Beast," I whisper breathlessly. On a whim I reach out and run a claw along his jawline, feeling him tense underneath me in response.

"W-what?" he croaks out.

_"Keep talking,"_  I mouth to him.

Beast deflates so instantaneously that I actually feel bad about teasing him like that. It makes me wonder if he has much experience with women, the poor thing. His awkwardness is almost...  _endearing_ , I guess.

_Wait,_  endearing _? You better get that right out of your head, Babineaux._

"W-what's your favorite book?" he stutters. I can tell he's trying to play it cool but he can't manage it at all.

_Ok yeah, it's endearing. Dammit._

" _Pride and Prejudice_ ," I reply immediately. I'm a big Jane Austen fan.

"That's a good one."

"'Good?' Just  _good_?" I scoff, shaking my head. "And you were just starting to grow on me, Beast."

I finally get his hands free, so I stand up so he can rub some feeling back into his wrists. "It's a  _very_  good book, but I would argue that there are better," Beast tells me, grinning.

"Name one," I retort, eyebrows raised in challenge. At the same time I'm gesturing to him that I want him to pick me up so I can scan the ceiling for bugs.

" _The Great Gatsby_ ," he offers. He makes a step out of his hands so I can easily hop onto his shoulders.

"Terrible," I say while we walk slowly around the room. "All of the characters in that story are horrible people."

"They're supposed to be," Beast argues. "It's a critique of high society during the Roaring Twenties."

"Next."

" _The Count of Monte Cristo._ "

"Hmm. That might be a contender," I muse after a moment's thought. _"All human wisdom is contained in these words, 'wait and hope.'"_

Words to live by when you're in a shitty situation- they've basically been the story of my life. I'm still hoping that one day, things will get better for me and my brothers...

"Very true," Beast agrees.

We're quiet for a moment, and even though I'm almost done checking the room I find myself wanting to continue this conversation.

I nudge his shoulder with my foot. "I'm still waiting."

"I would argue that I've come up with appropriate alternatives. It's all just a matter of taste," he replies.

Beast's diplomatic tone makes me snort back laughter as I hop off his shoulders-

Right into his waiting hands, which go to my waist to unnecessarily steady me.

But then he snatches them back, like he just realized what he was doing and feels embarrassed now. It'd be easy to razz on him for that... if I didn't feel just as flustered over his chivalry. I can't recall the last time someone treated me so nicely, and I don't know how to react to it.

Call me paranoid, but I automatically assume there's an ulterior motive whenever someone performs a random act of kindness towards me. Like they're trying to get in good with me for one or another reason later.

What can I say? I'm a little damaged, ok?

"'Appropriate alternatives?'" I repeat, instead of commenting on the awkward moment. "Who talks like that?"

Beast shrugs. "I do, I guess."

"Nerd," I accuse, but I sorta mean it as a compliment. I gesture around the room. "It looks like we're clear. What do you suggest we do next?"

He seems to think on it for a moment. "They have to come and get us if they want to use us as test subjects, right? I think the only thing we can really do is wait for that, considering that they took all of our things."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I agree dejectedly. I honestly can't think of any other way out- there's no locks for me to pick, no key code to hack. There's not even a ceiling vent for me to try to climb into. I've got nothing.

I plop down on the floor in defeat, legs crossed with my knuckles propping up my chin. After a few seconds Beast sits next to me.

"So, what do we do now while we're waiting for potential death and torture to come find us?" I ask dryly.

My cell mate grins, and I wonder what the hell the fluttery feeling in my stomach is.


	14. Different

**Different**

"Shakespeare?" Beasts prompts curiously.

"Hells yeah," I reply, laughing. "You?"

For the past several hours Beast and I have just been talking, basically for lack of anything else to do. You'd think by now we'd run out of things to say, but nope.

It's crazy how easy it is to talk to him. I mean, I kinda had the impression that Beast was a bit of a stuck up jerk before, but he's not, he's really not. What I thought was a superiority complex is actually just natural reserve, and once you get past that... wow.

The man is smart.  _Really_  smart, but he doesn't throw it in your face or anything. His intelligence is just there, undeniable like gravity. He's got a great sense of humor and there's- there's just a sweet shyness about him that I'm drawn to, for whatever reason.

Now Beast nods in an affirmative to my question, grinning.

"Tragedies or comedies?"

"I'm not particularly fond of the tragedies," he admits.

_"Particularly fond." This guy, I swear._

I gasp in astonishment. " _What_? Not even  _Romeo and Juliet_?"

He wrinkles his nose in distaste.

"But why not?" I ask. "I mean, it's one of the most classic love stories of all time."

"I find it difficult to enjoy a story when the downfall is brought on by the characters' own folly," Beast replies stiffly. "If either of them had stopped to think for a moment, the tragedy would've been averted."

"That's not the point," I argue. "The point is that their love was so strong they were willing to give up everything for it."

"You realize they each killed themselves over someone they'd known for a grand total of three days, right? Where's the sense in that?"

"It's not necessarily _supposed_  to make sense. Not everyone is as rational as you are,  _Dr._  Beast, and it's unfair to expect them to be," I retort. "The tragedies are supposed to make you  _feel_. To have empathy for other people's faults, you know? Take Antony and Cleopatra, for example. You can feel bad for them both without thinking it's a good idea to stab yourself with a sword or let a snake bite your boob, right?"

Beast laughs. "Perhaps," he finally concedes.

_Aha, victory is mine!_

"Does that mean you put no merit in Shakespeare's comedies, then?"

"Hey, I didn't say that. Unlike  _some_  people, I can appreciate both," I tease. "I think my favorite quote from all of Shakespeare's comedies is:  _How far that little candle throws his beams!/ So shines a good deed in a naughty world_."

" _The Merchant of Venice,_ " he supplies immediately.

I nod.  _Finally_ , someone who likes this stuff just as much as I do.

For a moment we're quiet, but it's not an uncomfortable silence. Beast isn't the kind of person that needs to fill the stillness with mindless chatter, something I find lacking in a lot of people. Peter, for example- I like him and all, but Jesus Christ that boy has a motor mouth.

So for me it's actually rather peaceful, just sitting with Beast like this.

_Not exactly a good feeling to have around him, considering how we're_ enemies  _and all_ _..._

The thought pulls me up short and makes me suddenly feel really uneasy. How much I've enjoyed talking to him is all kinds of bad news. We-

"That's how I thought of what you did for me in Paris," Beast says quietly. There's this guileless sincerity shining out of his eyes that immediately tugs at my heartstrings. Aw, crap. "A good deed like that isn't something you forget."

_And then I used it to hurt you the next time I saw you,_  I think to myself.  _Bring on the shame spiral._

I can't look him in the eye right now, I just feel too guilty about having to use him the way I did that night. Instead I scoot around and place the soles of my feet up against his, focusing on that instead.

His hand-feet are really, really cool. And big- as in, three times bigger than mine. What do they say about guys with big feet again?

_And that's not helping._

Then Beast's finger-toes curl over, so they're lightly holding my feet. It's almost kinda sweet for some reason and it makes me laugh in spite of myself. At the sound of my laughter they squeeze just a bit tighter, but still gently.

"I like your feet," I tell him honestly.

His face lights up with happiness again, the same way it did when he recognized me in that Agent Orange facility. I've never seen someone express so much with their eyes the way Beast can.

And then suddenly we hear a bloodcurdling scream echo through the walls.

Both of us are on our feet immediately, listening for more. Beast steps closer to me- I think out of an instinct to protect me. But nothing happens for several minutes. No further screams, no sounds of a struggle.

_And another one bites the dust,_  I think grimly to myself.

I can only imagine what just happened to some poor, unknown mutant elsewhere in this facility. Is their suffering now over? Do they have family somewhere, people who will never know what happened to them here?

The weight of all the lives taken, the families broken like mine because of Stryker presses down on me like lead and makes me shudder. He  _has_  to be stopped.

"What I'm going to do to that man when I get my hands on him," I mutter.

"I thought you said revenge isn't your thing?" Beast asks pointedly.

"It's not," I retort. "There's a difference between revenge and making sure that bastard is never able to torture another mutant ever again."

He raises his eyebrows in disapproval. "So you plan on killing Stryker."

I stare Beast dead in the eye, challenging him. "If I can manage it, yeah," I reply. "Why? Have any suggestions?"

"We could turn him in to the police," he offers.

_Yeah, been there, done that. And it didn't work._

"So they can release him an hour later?" I scoff. "Think about it, Beast. Bolivar Trask is on trial for selling American military tech to the Chinese. _Not_  for building giant murder machines aimed at innocent civilians, and  _not_  for torturing a bunch of mutants to death. What makes you think they'll hold Stryker for anything? We're not  _people_  to them."

"And you think killing humans will make them finally see us as equals? Can't you see that what you do just makes them fear us even  _more_? We've become the monsters in their closets, and nothing else," Beast says sharply. Then he gives a bitter laugh and shakes his head. "But that's right, the Brotherhood doesn't want equality between the species, does it?"

"What are you trying to say?" I demand.

"I'm saying you want superiority," he snaps. "That you see humans as these lesser beings not worthy of the same respect-"

"And I say again," I hiss. "That just shows that you don't know me."

"Enlighten me, then."

"Not that I have to explain myself to you," I reply coldly, "but I want mutants to be seen as equals. All these things we do... it's to earn respect. To get a seat at the table for mutant rights."

Surprised flickers in his expression, but that quickly disappears. " _You_  might believe that, but the rest of your little friends don't," Beast tells me. I open my mouth to argue with him automatically, but he keeps talking. "I've known them longer than you, Vixen. I've known Erik Lehnsherr for a  _long_  time. He wants mutant  _superiority_ , not equality."

He sighs.

"And as for your self-destructive methods-"

"Spare me the speech from your high horse," I interject bitterly, turning away from him. I liked him much better when he wasn't being a judgmental asshole. "At least I'm doing  _something_."

"You think the X-Men are doing nothing?" he growls.

"It seems to me that your only goal is to block our efforts," I explain stiffly, remembering what Wanda told me about the X-Men. "And to teach young mutants how to hide who they are."

"We teach them _control_ ," Beast retorts. "We give them a place to belong and teach them to accept themselves, to make something of their lives."

That... that doesn't sound bad at all, actually.

I know Beast isn't lying to me, he's too self-righteous for that. He's telling me the truth- as he sees it, anyway.

But does that mean Wanda's wrong about the X-Men? Did she lie to me when she told me about them? Or is what she said the truth as she sees it, too?

I turn back to Beast, feeling uncertain. I open my mouth to speak, but I really have no idea what to say. That genuine sincerity burning out of his face makes it almost impossible to argue with him, especially when I'm so confused. I really need to think.

I clear my throat and look away from him. "I'm tired," I mutter.

It's not a physical withdrawal by any means, but in a weird way I can sense Beast retreating back into himself, throwing up that polite, impersonal reserve between us again. For some reason it hurts a little. "I'll keep watch," he offers formally.

I nod and stiffly thank him before I pull up my hood and curl up in the corner of the room farthest from him.

Even though I  _am_  actually tired, my mind is racing too fast for me to fall asleep. I just don't know what to think- about Beast, about the X-Men. Even the Brotherhood.

Beast claims that the Brotherhood wants mutant superiority. Part of me wants to deny this idea outright, but another wonders if he's got a point. The way my teammates just shrug off the pain we cause humans doesn't exactly mesh with the concept of equality, does it?

No one's ever said that word around me- but then, no one's ever said anything about mutant superiority, either. Magneto talks about our "place" in the world, yeah, but that could go either way, right?

So who do I believe?

Magneto, who I've never really trusted? Peter and Wanda, who've become my friends over the past several months? Or do I believe Beast, who outright says that he wants mutant equality just like I do? Can I trust him?

I have to admit that I enjoy being around him. Or at least I do when he's not accusing me of hating humans and hurting people unnecessarily, anyway. It was so easy-  _too_  easy, really- for us to chat pleasantly and forget that we're supposed to be enemies today. I've come to admire Beast's intelligence, his kindness. That honest, self-conscious sweetness makes it all too easy to ignore the fact that I'm supposed to be wary of him.

That he's an enemy.

Well, shit.

That sort of forgetfulness can get me hurt in the long run, when we have to meet in the field again. How am I supposed to fight Beast when I know he's protected me several times already? When I know how it feels to draw him out of his shell and make him smile?

I can't just  _ignore_  that, even at this point. It's for the best that we don't make it worse. We definitely shouldn't get any closer to each other, for our own good.

We'll have to work together to get out of this, but it doesn't mean we need to create any more conflicting feelings about each other, right? It'd probably be better for both of us if we just went back to that wary respect we had for each other before. It shouldn't even be hard after the argument we just had.

With that settled, I finally drift off to sleep.

* * *

"I'll keep watch if you'd like to get some rest," I tell Beast politely when I wake up.

"No, thank you," he replies, just as coolly civil.

Ok, maybe I'm grumpy because I'm hungry, but something about his tone irritates me. Like he doesn't trust me to watch his back the way he just did for me. It's offensive, goddammit.

I roll my eyes. "I'm not going to kill you in your sleep, you know," I snap.

"I know," Beast agrees. "You're different from the rest of them that way."

What the hell is that even supposed to mean?

"Think about it- Fox, Scarlet, Mastermind- none of them would've hesitated to kill me by now. Especially for what I said to you earlier," he continues impatiently. Like he believes I'm smart enough to know this already. "But you... you're smarter than they are. More logical. And I'd even say kinder. I've watched you since you joined up, Vixen. You don't kill unless you feel you have to, and you certainly don't torture people."

That shuts me up for a split second.

He's been  _watching_  me? Like a fucking weirdo?

And what's with all this garbage about me being "different" from my teammates, if he's also been accusing me of hating humans? Is it only because I'm part of the Brotherhood that he assumed that, but now that I've said different he's reevaluated his opinion?

Why does he have to be so fucking confusing?

I purse my lips together in annoyance. "Just get some sleep, will you?" I tell him. "You're going to be useless if you're too tired to fight."

"Fair enough," Beast replies. He goes to lay down, facing away from me.

But I could swear that there's a soft smile pulling at his lips.


	15. In Memorial

**In Memorial**

June 23, 1975

_God, Beast, wake up already. I think this shit would be easier to stand if I wasn't by myself._

I'm actually sorta jealous that Beast has been able to sleep through the sounds of screaming echoing through the walls for the past several minutes. I wish I could do that.

Instead I have to satisfy myself with pacing back and forth on the opposite side of the room, hugging myself and singing in a pitiful attempt to drown out the sounds of misery.

It's not going so well, unfortunately. I feel like I'm slowly losing my mind, hearing someone endure so much pain and being unable to help them.

"Vixen?" Beast's voice is surprisingly gentle.

"It's been going on for the past twenty minutes," I mutter. I'm pretty sure I don't need to tell him what, it's so damn obvious. In an attempt to lighten the mood, I tell him, "by the way, you snore like a bear."

"Sorry," he says, so sincerely that I immediately feel guilty for the joke. He obviously feels bad that I might've been dealing with the screams  _and_  snoring on top of that.

I sigh and stop walking. "Ok, you don't really snore," I admit, clutching my head. "But the screaming is driving me nuts."

"I've noticed."

_Well if you're going to be like that you can just go back to sleep, jerk._

I glare at him and return to pacing, but I'm really getting desperate for something to distract me at this point.

"Tell me about the school," I say after a few minutes.

"What?"

I glance over to see Beast looking rather surprised. "Distract me. Tell me what you can, at least," I explain. "I get that you might not be able to say much because of security reasons, but still."

He shrugs. "It's not like I think you'd storm the castle or anything," he remarks.

I snort. "After everything you accused the Brotherhood of earlier, you really don't think I'd try?"

"No," he replies. "I don't."

He's right, I wouldn't.

But his certainty- because he thinks me  _so_  well now after our talk earlier or something- irks me for some reason.

He says he's been watching me, though, so maybe he's not  _completely_  talking out of his ass. I don't know about the other stuff, but Beast was right when he said I don't kill unless I have to. I'll give him credit for that one, at least. But why does he care, anyway?

I don't really know how I feel about him observing me so closely. I mean, as much as I want to accuse Beast of being some sort of creepy weirdo for that, I can't do it without being a big fat hypocrite because I've been sorta watching him, too.

But that doesn't mean I think I  _know_  him really well or anything. Beast may believe he's got me figured out now because of our conversation earlier and what he's seen of me on missions, but I think it's better to reserve judgement.

"Are all of the X-Men that naive, or is it just you?" I ask him.

"It's not naivety," Beast says defensively. "It's about giving people second chances. New beginnings, redemption. We believe people can change, if they're shown a better way. It's about... hope."

His words finally make me stop pacing.

Hope, he says. People changing if they're shown a better way. Redemption. It honestly sounds too good to be true, especially after everything I've seen in this fucked up world.

But his conviction is so strong that I can't help thinking that Beast has seen the power of such things firsthand. I wish I had a chance to see something like that. God, I don't even think I know what redemption looks like.

_I want to know more,_  I think.  _It's ok to be curious, right?_

And that's when a panel in the wall slides open, revealing five armed guards.

For a split second the seven of us stand there like statues, frozen solid from the surprise. Those guards definitely didn't expect their prisoners to be free from their chains, that's for damn sure.

I don't hesitate once I've gotten over myself- I immediately pick up my boots and sling them right in their faces.

My impromptu attack works like a charm. One guard takes a shoe right to the forehead and falls down unconscious. The other boot is so distracting it gives me and Beast enough time to move before they can react.

He goes low and to the right; I go high left. Our momentum sends the guards reeling backwards into a dimly-lit metal hallway, and the fight spills out from there.

First I wrench a gun away from one of them and pop him in the head with it. Then I kick another in the face. Meanwhile, Beast throws one of the guards into a wall with a sickening thud and then takes out the last one with a blow to the temple.

"Step one, complete," I announce in satisfaction, picking up my boots and slipping them on. "Want to split up? One of us can figure out how to get out of here, and the other can see if we can find any other captives?"

That seems plausible enough, right? Maybe that way Beast won't realize that I'm really trying to get away from him so I can hunt down Stryker?

Beast glares at me. "Or we can look for captives together  _while_  trying to find a way out," he retorts.

Well I guess that answers that question. Dammit.

I roll my eyes, trying to play off my disappointment as offense. "Fine," I snap. "But first let's see what we've got here."

Together we go through and strip the unconscious guards of their weapons. They each have pistols with adamantium bullets in the clips, as well as a knife. One even has two.

I can't help grinning when Beast sighs and reluctantly holds out all six of the blades to me.

"Trust me with these?" I tease, because he so obviously doesn't. He's just smart enough to realize that I'm good with knives, and we can use that to get the hell out of here.

"Not really," he replies, proving my point.

Screw him, then.

I take a moment to look over my new knives rather than arguing with him. Before I only had two, and now I have six. And it looks like Stryker's even improved the design on these things since the last time I stole some from him. What a guy, right?

I notice Beast examining the cartridges out of the guns, his expression kinda puzzled. I have a feeling it's because he's trying to figure out what they're made of.

_Holy shit, do I know something he doesn't?_

"It's adamantium," I tell him. "The knives, too. It's basically indestructible. Here, watch this-"

I hold one of the knives up about half a foot from the floor and drop it. It sinks down almost to the hilt without any other help.

"Intriguing," he murmurs. "Where'd you get your pair, before?"

"I stole them from Stryker during a break in. I didn't get my brother, but it wasn't a  _complete_  loss," I explain shortly, standing up. I don't like thinking about all the poor mutants I've seen in these awful labs. Hopefully we'll be able to avoid the dissection table now, but too many others weren't so lucky. "Are we ready?"

Beast rises to his feet. "Yes."

I impulsively hold out a hand for him to shake. "I give you my word that I won't ditch you here, even if we get separated," I assure him.

Giving someone my word means a lot to me- I always do my best to keep my promises when I can. And I feel it's only right that I not leave Beast here, even if I have the chance to escape alone. It would offend my sense of- of _fairness_ , I guess.

He frowns. "That hadn't even crossed my mind," he says, looking me straight in the eye. "I told you, you're diff-"

"I get it," I cut in impatiently, withdrawing my hand. Apparently Beast trusts me to not ditch his ass here, but  _doesn't_  trust me to leave Stryker alive.

So ok, maybe he understands me better than I thought.

And damn, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth to admit that. Once again his accurate assessment of my own character annoys me- I'm not used to being so transparent, I guess. No one- not even my brothers, to be honest- seems able to really figure me out most days. Like I'm on a different wavelength or something. And Beast got me in one.

But as irritating as all that is, was it any better when he was wrongly accusing me of stuff? Definitely not.

I think I liked it better when this shit wasn't so complicated.

"Let's go," I mutter.

I take off down the hallway, with Beast following behind me. Together we track the sounds of yet another man screaming in pain, checking rooms for more captives as we go.

But all we find is a morgue for our own kind.

"Oh, my God," I whisper, covering my mouth to stifle the stench coming off the corpses. It doesn't help much.

There are seven in all, just laying there completely exposed and laid open. I know these guys are past caring at this point, but I feel pissed off on their behalf for the indignity of it all. I mean, no one even had the decency to cover them up.

And it's more than that.

"So many of us..."

There are seven ferals here,  _seven_. For a race that's already on the razor's edge of oblivion, that's a big fucking deal. Just the thought of it makes me want to punch something.

I step a little closer. "This is one of the guys we heard screaming earlier, I think," I murmur, gesturing to the freshest body. "Y-you don't think they started this while he was still  _alive_ , do you? Wait- what's that?"

It looks like there's some sort of metal inside of the guy's stomach. Like his bones are made of it or something. Jesus, I don't want to even know  _how_  that happened.

"I think you were right about one thing, Vixen," Beast says quietly. "Stryker likes ferals for their healing factor. Look- I think they were trying to coat his skeleton with adamantium, but his system wasn't strong enough to take it."

Meaning these poor dudes died a horrible, agonizing death. I can't imagine that having liquid metal injected into your body would be anything but excruciating.

God, is this what was going to happen to me and Beast?

I shudder at the thought as I glance over at him.

The idea of Beast dying a gruesome death freaks me out for some reason. Not just because he's a feral male and we're dying out as it is. More because he's a pretty nice guy most of the time. Terribly naive and preachy sometimes, but still nice. He doesn't deserve such a horrible fate.

Then again, neither did these guys.

I blink past the sudden burning in my eyes- for Christ's sake, I'm almost crying over complete strangers. "What do you say about us giving them a Viking funeral?" I ask Beast.

He looks around soberly and nods. "Let's do it."

I can feel him watching me as I get to work on making an improvised firebomb, but I ignore his stares for the most part. Doing something with my hands makes me feel slightly better, like I'm being productive.

"Did the Brotherhood teach you this?" Beast asks eventually. To my surprise he sounds curious, rather than judgmental.

Somehow I don't think he'll believe me if I told him that I learned how to make explosives by reading chemistry books and product labels to piece together the chemical reactions, even if it's the truth. I'm like a Betty Crocker for improvised explosives.

I scoff as I start dumping lye into a bucket. "I have two brothers and grew up in the middle of nowhere," I mutter. "We had to have fun somehow."

"You must have kept your parents quite busy," he muses while he packs up autopsy photographs.

The casual reference to my parents makes it really hard to breathe for a second. Yeah, we kept Mom and Dad busy with our hijinks, right up until that crap got them killed.

"Yeah," I agree quietly, past the lump in my throat. I have to cough to clear it. God, I really hope Beast doesn't think I'm a weepy damsel in distress or some shit like that.

_Get it together, Babineaux._

I'm more in control when I say, "this will go off in two minutes."

"Let's get going then," Beast replies after this weird little pause, like he wanted to ask a question but thought better of it. I'm kinda thankful for that, to be honest.

I can't stop the wave of sadness that wells up from somewhere deep inside me as I give the corpses one last look. There's an unspeakable tragedy in so many lives wasted, mutant or not. It kills me that I couldn't save these guys, and I didn't even know them. How many others have been killed by Stryker's cruelty?

_Never again,_  I think to myself as I follow Beast out of the room.  _I'll stop Stryker if it's the last thing I do._


	16. Do the Right Thing

**Do the Right Thing**

Note to self: explosions draw guards like ants to a fucking picnic.

_Oops. I guess that would be my bad._

We only make it about ten yards down the hall before a bunch of tranquilizer darts come flying at us, shot by yet another group of guards.

"Whoa!" I yelp in surprise. Pretty damn undignified of me, I'll admit. I use a knife to deflect a dart and drop to the floor to avoid the rest.

Beast neatly dodges the darts aimed at him and just mows through a good number of the guards like a freight train. It's not pretty, but it's effective.

At that point I spring to my feet and make a flying kick to the face on one guy who's trying to shoot Beast with a real gun. I don't think I'd be able to get through all these guards on my own, if Beast got shot. And trying to drag a wounded three hundred- excuse me,  _two hundred and twenty-five_ \- pound ally around just doesn't appeal to me.

And alright, maybe I just don't want Beast to get hurt. So sue me. He's the only person I've ever met who actually wanted to talk Shakespeare with me, ok?

Together we take out the rest of the guards and keep going, finally reaching a huge room full of all kinds of crazy gadgets I've never seen anything like before. The two of us hide behind some barrels to observe the situation.

There's a lot of people hurrying around, with all of the focus on this coffin-shaped tank of water. It's surrounded by tubes and this big tub of a bubbling silver liquid. Adamantium, I'm assuming.

_Looks like we've found where the experiments have been happening._

My guess is immediately proven right when a naked guy with metal claws coming out of his knuckles stands up out of the pool, screaming his head off.

And I can't say I blame him too much for the dramatics, because it looks like he just survived the procedure Stryker's offed a bunch of other ferals attempting. He's got adamantium coating his bones now, I'm guessing.

"Logan," Beast murmurs.

"You know him?" I whisper. You know the naked crazy man?

I say "crazy" because the dude- Logan, apparently- is now flailing around and using his new adamantium toys to cut through equipment (and  _people_ ) like butter. It's pretty gruesome to see, even if these workers suck as human beings for helping with this whole operation. The guy's basically going berserk.

"Yes- well, no," Beast replies.

Seriously, what kind of answer is that?

"Well, he seems fun," I observe sarcastically.

But not really. This Logan guy is clearly cuckoo for cocoa puffs, with some mass murderer sprinkles.

It hits me then- who knows  _what_  this guy has gone through? I mean, getting boiling metal injected into your body sounds incredibly painful and disorienting. And what if he was treated the same way Myles was before Stryker finally did this to him? Small wonder the dude's going nuts.

Again, I'm moving to help before I really think it through. Just like with Beast in Paris. And in the hallway where Stryker nabbed us.

Yeah, I know there's a pattern there.

I dart out from our hiding place and take out a couple guards on the way to Mr. Crazy Pants-less. He turns, swiping with his claws in a downward stroke, just as I reach him. I manage to cross a pair of knives over my head to block it.

_Phew. That was close._

"Hey! Stop, stop- it's ok!" I tell him earnestly. "I'm like you. I'm a feral too, see?"

I shake my head a little so my ears poke out of my hair more.

Logan hesitates, staring at me intently with a dazed expression. Does he even know who- or  _what-_  he is anymore?

Jesus, I feel bad for him. He looks completely lost, and I'm not really sure how to help him. I don't really think a Cajun lullaby is going to cut it with this guy.

God dammit, why do I keep having to deal with crazy people?  _Why?_

"See, it's alright," I say, trying to sound soothing. "Come with me, and I'll get you out of here, ok? And  _clothes_ , I'll get you clothes."

This guy is  _really_  a treat to look at, if you know what I mean, but the aura of insanity is a big turn off for me. It's a damn shame, I'm telling you.

His eyes soften slightly after a very tense moment.

Logan takes a step forward-

And just barely avoids getting clipped in the head by a bullet. Several more follow the first, forcing me to dodge them.

Great, now we're getting shot at.

Naked Guy lets out a roar of betrayal- I guess he thinks I was trying to trick him- and takes a swipe at me.

_Really dude? I try to help you and you try to turn me into a filet, you bastard._

Thankfully I'm able to avoid him (and the bullets) and retreat back towards Beast as Logan chases me. I'm hoping Beast will get the memo and use the element of surprise to his advantage.

He does, thank God.

Beast tackles the crazy man right on cue and pins him to the ground. He looks like he has the situation taken care of, meaning that now that I'm not being chased I'm free to take care of the shooter.

It's Stryker. Because of course it is.

The bastard is so focused on shooting Logan he doesn't even notice me sneaking up on him.

I quickly skirt around the edge of the room and come in from behind to leap onto his back right as he gets one last shot off. I already have my knife ready to hold to his throat.

Stryker immediately freezes and lets out a pitiful squeak of surprise.

"Drop it," I snap at him. He doesn't move. I press my knife into his skin just a hint more, so he understands I mean fucking  _business_. "I said  _drop it_."

He finally drops the gun.

"On your knees."

Stryker drops to the floor. When he does I regain my feet and kick the gun away as I move to stand in front of him. I pull out another knife and hold both blades crossed to his throat. This fucker is completely at my mercy now.

"You've been torturing and mutilating my kind for years, using us as your playthings. Like we're not  _people_ , just like you," I hiss at him. "My brother has never been the same since you got your filthy mitts on him. I'd _love_  for you to give me one good reason not to slit your throat right now."

He opens his mouth uselessly, like a dying fish out of water. Stryker's got nothing to say in his own defense- meaning he  _knew_  what he was doing was bad and did it anyway. What an evil, rotten bastard, right?

"That's what I thought," I say bitterly.

This is it.

_Finally_ , after over a year now, I have this guy in my grasp. I'll finally be able put an end to all of the pain he's been causing my kind. You'd think that I'd feel  _triumphant_ , or at least relieved after all this time.

But I don't.

I've wanted to take Stryker out for  _so long_ , and now that I finally have him in my grasp I find myself hesitating. Can I really kill someone this way, an outright execution? Cold-blooded murder?

I was fifteen the first time I ever killed a person. It was self-defense (it was either stab the guy or let myself get strangled. Not much of a choice, really), but I still felt so guilty about it that I went on a week-long bender afterwards. That was my first kill, but definitely not the last.

The point is that I'm starting to wonder if maybe I'm not exactly qualified to be judge and jury here. I have blood on my hands the same as Stryker does.

Well ok, not  _exactly_  the same, considering how he's deliberately sought out people to torture them and shit and I've only ever killed people out of self-defense or accidentally. I'd hoped I would never have to do it on purpose, but then the whole Stryker situation happened with Myles. I tried to let the system take care of this asshole, but the system let me down. After that I realized I would have to make an exception.

Or so I thought, anyway.

Because for all my shit-talking about Stryker in the past, I don't think I have it in me to kill a man on his knees, to murder someone in cold blood. That's not who I am.

And it's not who I want to be, either.

Is there another way to stop Stryker, to make sure he doesn't go after mutants anymore? I mean, maybe now that he knows he's vulnerable to us he'll back off from now on, right? I've hunted him down once, and I can do it again if he doesn't straighten up and stop poking people full of needles and shit.

Hope. I can hope.

Maybe, _maybe_  if he gets a second chance I'll be able to get to see a little bit of that redemption Beast was talking about.

"I want you to remember this moment, Stryker," I slowly whisper. "I should gut you right here and now, but I'm going to let you go. A mutant had you on your knees, and she gave you a second chance. Remember that the next time you feel like playing mad scientist, because I promise you I won't be so merciful when I find you again."

Then I pop him in the temple with the handle of my knife, knocking him unconscious. He still has a shocked look on his face as he falls over.

That felt good.

But not good enough. Not after everything he's done.

_This is for Myles, you rat-faced bastard._

And I kick him in the leg as hard as I can- so hard I break his kneecap. Well,  _good._

I'm not going to kill the guy, but that doesn't make me hate him any less, ok? Can you really blame me?

"Asshole," I mutter.

I turn to leave and see Beast standing there with this expression of shocked relief on his face. Damn, I forgot he was watching for a minute there.

"Let's get out of here," I tell him.

Beast nods silently and follows after me when I pass by him, headed for the exit. I can feel him staring at me as he walks by my side.

That gets irritating  _fast_.

_Ok, yeah, I didn't kill the guy. Are you happy, Beast? Say something, I dare you. That way I can tell you to shut the fuck up because I don't want to talk about it._

I finally glance over at him. "What?" I demand defensively.

"You didn't kill him," he murmurs.

Well, duh.

I roll my eyes. "Your powers of observation are astounding, Beast."

He's quiet for a moment. "Why not?"

Oh great, here we go.

"Are you complaining?" I retort.

"No, but... I'm just curious as to why you didn't, after you said you were going to," he explains.

_Because I couldn't just straight-up murder a guy, ok? And maybe I wanted to give your whole "second chances" thing a shot. Now leave me alone, Jiminy Cricket._

I shrug self-consciously. "I changed my mind."

"Why?"

He just won't drop it, will he?

And I  _really_  don't want to think about it anymore.

Now that I've decided to let Stryker go the doubts are starting to creep in. I'm seriously starting to second guess myself on leaving him alive. Did I do the right thing? I mean, it was the  _noble_  thing to do, sure, but that doesn't mean jack shit in the real world, does it? What if he goes right back to his experiments on mutants and I just wasted my only shot to stop him?

No, letting him go was the right choice. I think.

Fuck.

"Oh my god!" I snap at Beast in exasperation. I almost want to punch him for being so damn nosy. "Because I felt like it, Beast! Now let it go before I change my mind again."

That shuts him up, thank God.

But even though I can tell he's trying to hide it, I can see him smiling.

_Yeah alright, Beast. I guess you were right about me after all. Try not to let it go to your head._


	17. A Detente

**A Detente**

"What happened to your buddy Logan?"

Beast grimaces. "I was trying to reason with him, but that last shot Stryker got off hit him in the chest," he explains. "It startled him and he ran away after that. I didn't follow because- well, you know."

He gives me a furtive look, but he's smart enough not to mention my stand-off with Stryker.

"I suppose he'll make his own way now. Until..." Beast trails off, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Until  _what?_

I want to ask him what the hell is up with the ominous non-ending of his sentence, but he doesn't seem to be in a sharing mood on that subject. And I guess I don't really have a right to ask about it, either.

Fine then. Whatever.

Wherever he is now, that Logan guy definitely pulled a number on this place on his way out.

We use the same path he took out of the facility. How do I know that's the way he went? Well, because he kindly left us a trail of breadcrumbs for us to follow.

And when I say "breadcrumbs" I really mean  _corpses_.

Jesus, that's a lot of dead people.

The more bodies I step over on my way out, the better I feel about my decision to not kill Stryker. There's been enough death in this place and I'm literally desperate to leave at this point.

Eventually we end up slipping into a huge drainage tube Logan obligingly ripped a hole in and following it until it empties out into a river. Unfortunately for me and Beast, there happens to be a fifty-foot waterfall blocking any more forward progress.

Just fabulous.

I quickly weigh our options.

Climbing down is out- the rocks below us look slick, and with my wrist still being kinda iffy it'd be too risky to try. Going back the way we came is a  _hell no_. I'm not going through that valley of fucking death again. And even the guards we took care of before will probably be coming-to by now, meaning we'd have to fight our way through again.

Which leaves-

"I say we jump," I tell Beast.

"You're joking, right?"

"Nope," I reply. "I think it will be  _fun_. And I'd rather jump into the water than lose my grip on the rocks while climbing and end up breaking every bone in my body when I land on the shore."

Beast frowns thoughtfully. Yup, my logic is working on him already.

I grin and jump right off the cliff.

Falling fifty feet is a serious adrenaline rush. The air rushing in my ears and whipping through my hair- for a few seconds there I think I know how Peter feels when he runs at the speed of Mach Ridiculous. Or however fast he goes.

I hit the water with a splash and surface quickly. I can't help giggling from the residual adrenaline pinging through my veins, especially when I realize that Beast jumped, too.

"Wasn't that  _awesome_?" I ask, treading water.

"No," he retorts sourly. "That was terrifying."

I scoff teasingly at his pouting. "You're not living enough if you're not doing things that scare you now and then, Beast," I tell him.

I'm being serious, but Beast's grumpy face is too much for me to take. I burst into another round of giggles and splash him.

And to my surprise- and delight- he laughs, too.

God, he has a great laugh.

This is probably the point where we should go our separate ways, now that we've officially escaped from the lab and everything. Beast has to go back to the X-Men, and I need to head back to the Brotherhood. Everybody's probably really worried about me by now. How many days has it even been since we were captured?

When Beast immediately gets out of the water I automatically assume that he's about to head out alone, but he doesn't. He waits patiently for me to wash off my makeup (days-old concealer and panda eyes are not a good look no matter who you are), and join him on the shore.

"Which way do you suggest?" Beast asks politely while I comb through my hair with my claws. Thank God my hair is naturally pretty tame or it would be a rat's nest by now.

_I_  suggest _you go one way and I go the other now_ , I think to myself, but somehow I can't bring myself to say the words aloud.

You know, maybe it'd be better if we didn't split up just yet.

I mean, the fact that Beast had to ask which way to go doesn't really bode well for him. He's already admitted to being a huge nerd, so I'm pretty sure he's got minimal wilderness survival skills, if any. What kind of shitty ally would I be if I walked away knowing he's going to die of starvation wandering around in circles out here in the dark? The  _worst_ , right?

Anyway, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

"Follow the river," I reply finally. "People tend to build along water, so that's better than aimlessly walking through the forest, right?"

To me that's a no brainer but I'm trying to save the poor guy's feelings here.

Beast nods in agreement, and together we set off to follow the riverbank through the gathering darkness.

The pine trees are different from what I'm used to and the air is nowhere near as humid, but being out in the boonies like this kinda reminds me of home.

Well, what  _used_  to be home. Louisiana isn't really that for me anymore. And I can't say I've really had a place that felt like home since we left there, but that's beside the point. The point is that I feel comfortable out here in the forest with Beast, even when night starts to fall and the air turns crisp and a little chilly.

I guess I didn't realize how much I missed being out in nature until I got the chance to do it again after so many years of city-living. My head feels a little clearer for the little timeout away from it all, even though it took getting kidnapped by a mad scientist to get here.

It's full dark by the time we reach a little podunk town sandwiched between the riverbank and a highway. I'm so happy I could jump for fucking joy when I immediately spy a restaurant.

Which means  _food_.

"Look, a diner!" I crow, running over to the front door. "Yes! I'm starving."

Food, oh my sweet baby Jesus.  _Food._

Beast follows me much more cautiously, staying in the shadows without getting any closer.

Right, I guess the big blue guy can't exactly waltz into a restaurant without expecting some sort of reaction, especially not in a little town out in the sticks like this one. They tend to breed ignorant rednecks like standing water breeds mosquitoes.

"It looks closed," he observes. "I think it might be Sunday night already."

He's right- it  _does_  look closed. This might be the first lucky break we've had since we got snatched by Stryker.

"So much the better. It's perfect- they even have a phone you can use," I agree, spying one inside next to the register.

I go around the side of the building to a small back window that looks like it's in the kitchen.

"Here, could you give me a boost?" I ask Beast when he trails along behind me.

"What exactly are you doing?" he sounds kinda uneasy.

What the fuck does he think I'm doing? Redecorating? Window washing?

I mean, we're both ridiculously hungry and thirsty and I have to piss like a race horse. We have the perfect opportunity right now to take care of that with the added bonus of no witnesses to freak out over my big furry buddy here. I really don't see what the issue is.

"Trying to break in and make some food," I explain, frowning. "I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten since Friday evening."

"But-"

"Look, I won't hurt the window," I cut in impatiently. "And I'll leave money for the food I make, too, so I'm not really stealing."

Beast looks thoughtful for a long moment, like he's considering the morality of the situation.

God dammit, I'm too hungry for him to have a crisis of conscience right now. Can't he bend the rules just once, for necessity's sake?

"Jesus, are you always such a stuffy goody-goody?"

He frowns and looks slightly insulted. "Fine."

I grin and turn around so he can pick me up by the waist and lift me to where I can reach the window. I've gotta admit, it's kinda sexy that he can do that so easily. With his help I get the window open no sweat and slip inside.

"After you," I tell Beast with a flourish when I open the front door for him.

"Thanks," he replies, with a little gentlemanly bow in return.

We both make a beeline for the drink dispenser and down about six glasses of water each. Then we head to our respective bathrooms.

Ah, relief.

There wasn't any sort of bathroom- not even a freaking hole in the ground- in our prison, and I wasn't about to just pick a corner and go, you know? My fucking teeth were floating at this point.

"Would you like to use the phone first?" Beast asks politely when we've both emerged.

I suppose he means so I can call someone and let them know I'm not dead. And I probably should, yeah, but... not just yet.

Not while I'm still around Beast.

Because I figure if they sent Peter to come for me it would take only an hour or so for him to get here, even if we're on the other side of the country. That's not enough time to make food, eat it, and then clean up after ourselves.

And I'm sorry, but at this point food is nonnegotiable. I'm  _hungry_ , dammit.

The X-Men, I know, will take a few hours at least with their big fancy jet. We'll hear them coming before they land. So that's really not an issue.

No, I have a bad feeling there would be a fight if Peter happened to pop up while I was still with Beast, and I  _really_  don't want that to happen. I mean, how ironic would it be if Beast and I survived Stryker together, only for him to get hurt at the hands of another mutant?

I can't let that happen to him, I can't. It's the least I can do for him after everything we went through these past couple days together. I mean, you can't experience something like that without bonding, right?

Jesus, will I ever even be able to fight Beast in the field after this? I really don't know.

Especially now that I know we're fighting for the same cause: mutant equality. In a way, he and I are on the same side. Our methods are just different is all. And we've been such a good team...

I have to admit that I can't really see him as an enemy anymore. At this point, he's actually... a friend.

A  _friend?_

Oh, great. How pissed will Magneto be if he finds out about  _that_? I wouldn't put it past that cold-hearted bastard to kill me if he decides I'm compromised.

And I'm starting to suspect that I am.

"I'd really prefer it if you didn't mention to your Professor X that I'm here," I tell Beast. He raises his eyebrows in confusion. "It'll just raise some questions that are better left alone."

I don't know much about the Professor, but I think that the less people who know about this, the better. If the story of this whole fiasco gets back to Magneto, I don't know what he'll do. I'm guessing it would probably be something painful.

It'd be smarter- and  _safer,_  for both of us- to just keep this a secret between me and Beast. To pretend like none of this ever happened...

That thought depresses me way more than it should.

Beast nods sadly, like he's reading my mind and feels the same way about forgetting about all of this.

For some reason that just makes it worse.

I try to shake off the gloom and go into the kitchen to figure out the food situation while Beast makes his phone call.

_Jackpot,_  I gleefully think when I open the fully-stocked refrigerator. I take off my cloak and set to work with gusto.  _Hmm, what do I want? Fuck it, I think I want_  everything _._

The sight of so much to choose from already has my mouth watering. But then again, I'm so hungry that if you put a plate of Brussels sprouts (yuck) in front of me I would still eat it.

It takes me a few minutes to decide what to make, by which time I hear Beast hang up the phone. I wait to see if he'll come into the kitchen, but he doesn't.

_Oh_ hell _no. He does_ not _expect me to make him food and bring it out to him. He's got another think coming if he believes that._

"Beast, get your ass in here! I'm not cooking for you!" I yell.


	18. Closer

**Closer**

Beast obediently appears in the doorway to the kitchen, saving me the trouble of having to go out into the dining area to kick his ass for being a chauvinist pig.

He raises his eyebrows at the state of things, which I have to admit  _might_  be a little out-of-hand at this point. I've got most of the stuff from the refrigerator out on the counters for him to choose from and it basically looks like a big fat mess.

"Um- what are you making?" he asks. "Everything but the kitchen sink?"

I glare at him. And here I was, thinking I was being nice. The nerve of some people, right?

" _I'm_  making steak and eggs," I reply huffily. "The rest is for you to see what you want."

"You're making breakfast for dinner, huh?"

It's my turn to give him a haughty look. "What makes it breakfast?"

"The eggs," he says, like it's obvious.

Oh no, we have another culinary oppressor. Why must people  _insist_  on blindly observing stupid conventions for certain foods all the time,  _why?_

Though I guess I shouldn't be  _too_  surprised, since Beast is such a goody two shoes rule-follower in other ways. Why not with eggs, too?

"And why does a meal have to be 'breakfast for dinner' if it includes eggs?" I demand of him. "Why can't it just be  _dinner_?"

_Come on, Beast,_  I think.  _Have fun with me. I_  dare _you._

I mean, breakfast-liberation is a  _very_  worthy cause, and I  _am_  being serious about changing his mind about his misguided, egg-persecuting ways and everything...

Mostly.

"Because eggs have a set place in American society as a breakfast food," Beast replies, coming closer. His tone is serious, but the look in his eyes is anything but. "Certain foods, by rule, are eaten at a certain time of day. Like... pancakes or hash browns. Those are breakfast foods, too."

_"By rule." Is that the best you can do?_

"And who makes these rules?" I retort. It's a struggle not to giggle, I'm so happy he's playing along. "I want to meet these people who get to declare what we eat and when. Go argue in front of a committee or something."

He grins, and I get that fluttery feeling in my stomach all over again. "And what would you say?"

"That I don't give a damn about their arbitrary rules and if I want to eat eggs for dinner I  _will_ \- without the stupid breakfast label," I declare.

I pull out two eggs and a steak with a flourish while Beast looks on in amusement. When I turn to the flattop to get started he passes behind me to grab a steak of his own.

"It's still breakfast," he murmurs.

I glower at him. "That's it, you food fascist," I snap, brandishing a spatula. "I'm making pancakes and hash browns just to spite you."

And then we erupt into laughter, so hard it's amazing that we both stay upright.

* * *

I go a little overboard on our meal because I enjoy having a full-service kitchen at my disposal for once. The Brotherhood base isn't exactly five-star, if you know what I mean, and I happen to love cooking.

By the time Beast and I sit down to eat the table is completely loaded: over-easy eggs, hash browns, pancakes, toast, bacon, and rare steaks. I've also got a pan of brownies in the oven for dessert, just because.

At first we're too hungry to really talk, but once we get over that starving oh-my-God-I'm-about-to-die feeling we start having a conversation again. At first about random things, but eventually I bring up something that struck me earlier.

When we were arguing back in that cell Beast called Magneto by his real name: Erik Lehnsherr. None of us in the Brotherhood ever refer to him as anything but "Magneto." Hell, I only know his real name because Wanda mentioned it in passing once.

So to me that implied a long-standing acquaintance between my fearless leader and Beast of some kind (friendly or not) and it has me curious. Beast claimed to know Magneto better than I do, to know that his goals for mutants are  _not_  the same as mine.

I may not be a fucking genius, but I realize that I need more information on that front. I feel like talking to Beast about it might be a good start. While I have the opportunity, anyway.

"You said you've known Magneto for a long time," I say hesitantly.

Beast immediately tenses up, his expression becoming guarded.

I can't say I blame him. We get along just peachy- actually, more like _fantastically_ \- as long as we don't talk about the X-Men and the Brotherhood, so I kinda just broke etiquette here.

He nods reluctantly.

"How long is a long time?"

"Since 1962," Beast replies.

That's  _way_  longer than I expected him to say. Over _ten_  years? It totally throws me for a loop and knocks my previous line of questioning completely off the rails.

My curiosity just gets the better of me. And yeah, it's kinda self-interested.

I mean, I thought Beast was more  _my_  contemporary, I suppose, than Magneto's. I guess I just assumed that without any real evidence to back it up, though. And there's no real point-of-reference on furry blue people's ages, you know?

Jesus, I hope I didn't make out with a guy old enough to be my dad.

"Wait- how old are you?"

"I'm turning twenty-nine in a few months," Beast says. I can tell he's a little embarrassed, but also pretty damn relieved that I'm not pestering him about Magneto. "What about you?"

Almost eight years, ok. I can handle that.

At least I don't feel like I need to give myself a lobotomy now.

"I'm twenty-one," I tell him, grinning.

Beast seems rather wistful now, like he's thinking of past regrets. What's happened in his life to make him look that way? Something about the sadness in his expression really makes me want to reach out and hold his hand, to make him feel better somehow.

"I feel like an old man now," he mutters dryly.

"Don't," I reply, waving dismissively. "How old you are has nothing to do with the number of years you've lived. It's about what you've experienced."

I swear, after all the shit that's happened to me my mental age is probably about the same as fucking Father Time. Mom and Dad dying, having to take care of my brothers, Myles going nuts...

There are some days when I wake up feeling a hundred years old.

"I'm still an old man, then," Beast retorts, with a wry grin.

I smile back at him in understanding.

_Trust me, Beast. I know the feeling._

This is going to sound crazy, but in this moment I feel that connection between us that I sensed before grow even stronger. As different as we are, I think I've found a kindred spirit.

In an X-Man, of all people.

_Fuck. I am_ so _screwed._

* * *

"I'll clean up, since you did most of the cooking," Beast offers once we've finished eating and drifted back into the kitchen. "I was rather useless, wasn't I?"

_Ain't that the truth._

Oh, he grated some potatoes and made toast, but Beast's major contribution to the meal was breathing on it and watching me work. I'm also pretty sure he stole some brownie batter while I wasn't looking.

Thievery aside, though, I can't say I minded the company.

"Sounds good to me," I agree brightly. I hate doing dishes with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Ok, maybe not that much. But I still prefer _making_  the mess to cleaning it up.

His expression falls just a little as he steps up to the sink.

"What's with the face?" I ask, hopping up onto the counter with my brownie and ice cream to keep him company.

"I hate getting wet," Beast explains. "My fur feels all poufy afterwards."

_Am I supposed to feel bad enough to help you now? Well too bad. Busy eating my brownie here._

I can't help laughing at his whining. "Why didn't you wear gloves?"

"Claws."

I hum sympathetically and glance down at my own hands. "I know how that is," I agree, taking a bite of brownie. Then I get another spoonful ready and hold it out to him. "Want some? Chocolate makes everything better. Even bad hair days."

The way Beast's gaze doesn't leave my face as he leans in to take a bite makes me feeding him feel even more intimate that it already is. The gold of his eyes smolders at me, filling me with this inexplicable warmth that makes me all shaky inside.

I can't look away. I don't even really  _want_  to.

I'm starting to realize that I made a big mistake. I should've walked away from Beast right after we escaped from Stryker, not hung around and got to know him more.

Because now... Now I might be in too deep.

It was going to be hard enough to meet Beast in the field after what we went through together, but now, after spending even  _more_  time with him, it's going to be impossible.

The more I get to know him, the more I  _like_  him. And that's dangerous, for both of us.

He's thinking the same thing, I can tell.

_Jesus, Beast, what are we going to do? I've got nothing._

I look away from him with a sigh and take another bite of brownie. When I finally have the guts to meet his gaze again I try to give Beast a smile and offer him another spoonful of awesomeness.

Together we polish off the rest of it, talking to each other like nothing's wrong.

Like this isn't temporary, and we don't need to soak up every second with each other while we can.

* * *

I manage to rummage a kinda soggy twenty dollar bill out of my boot and leave it next to the cash register when it comes time to go.

"Some date you are," I tease Beast as we sneak out of the now-spotless diner. "Making me get the whole damn check."

He flushes in a way that's just too cute for words. There's just something really appealing and sweet about how he reacts to any sort of flirting, there really is. For whatever reason I find it attractive.

Yeah, I said it, ok? _Attractive._

_Babineaux, you're such an idiot,_  I scold myself. Leave it to me to get all soft over a super awkward dork with no game at all, right?

It takes Beast a second to recover himself.

"I'm sorry, my wallet is in my other uniform. How about I promise to pay the  _next_  time we get captured and escape from a mutant-hating military scientist together?" he asks solemnly, holding out a hand to shake.

I laugh at that. "Deal," I agree.

It might be my imagination, but I swear my skin gets all tingly when our hands touch. God, can I get any more cliche?

Then a _Romeo and Juliet_ quote pops in my head: _For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch/ And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss._

So ok, yeah, apparently I can.

Together we head for the forest again, looking for some sort of clearing that Beast assures me is where the X-Men will land to pick him up in their big fancy jet plane. He's the expert on that, not me, so I go along with it.

_Why are you even following him, Babineaux? Isn't it time to get going?_

I know it is, but I can't stop myself from staying with him just a little bit longer.

_I just want to make sure he safely gets picked up is all,_  I assure myself.  _Nothing wrong with that, right?_

Jesus, am I glutton for punishment or what?

"Will you be alright?" he asks once we've stopped. His genuine concern warms my cold, sarcastic heart. "Are you sure you don't need a ride?"

I snort derisively. "I'm sure that would go over _so_  well with your teammates," I reply. "Don't worry, Beast. I'll be fine."

He frowns. "Then why are you waiting here?"

_Because I don't want to let this go. I don't want to let_ you _go, and I'm afraid to even admit to myself why._

Embarrassment makes me defensive. "Why?" I demand. "You worried I'll head back to the facility and kill Stryker after you leave?"

Beast's expression falls. "I wasn't until now," he murmurs, and Jesus Christ, the faith he has in me makes me simultaneously want to kiss him and smack him for being so sweetly naive. Then he shakes his head. His tone is certain when he says, "no, I don't believe you'll go back and kill him. You're not like that."

He's right- I'm not. Got me in one, again.

I grin reluctantly. "You say you know that about me, but we don't even know each other's names," I comment.

"I'm Hank," he replies, with basically no hesitation at all.

Because he-  _Hank-_  trusts me.

And after everything we went through, getting to know each other as we have, how can I not trust  _him?_ I mean, he protected me with his own body not once, but  _twice_ , before he even  _knew_  me. Of course I trust him now.

There's something between us, something that goes beyond just being battle buddies or whatever. That connection I felt with Hank the night we met again in that Agent Orange facility is even  _more_  powerful now. There's a real bond between us, I can't deny it.

But now I have to figure out how to let that go.


	19. Give Me My Sin

**Give Me My Sin**

"Hank," I repeat gently, but I can't go any further. I just can't find the words to say goodbye.

Hank speaks before I can get my shit together. "We both know you're different from the rest of them, Vixen. You don't really belong with the Brotherhood," he says hopefully.

I can read between the lines- there's an invitation in that statement. He wants me to come with him and I hear that loud and clear.

Too bad it's not that easy, though.

My brothers, my mission, how can I just walk away from all of that? And I'm not exactly a good candidate for his Squeaky Clean Club, either. I may apparently be "different" from the rest of the Brotherhood, but I don't think I'm  _that_  different.

And I've still got my reservations about the X-Men, anyway.

Hank told me more about Xavier's school while we were at the diner, and I respect what they're doing there, I really do. But hiding away in a secret place doesn't really do much for relations between mutant and humans, does it? Humans are still persecuting mutants outside of Xavier's walls, and ignoring the problem isn't going to make it go away.

I want to make a world where the Institute doesn't  _have_  to exist anymore, for mutants to be safe everywhere. So while I'm glad the school is there, I still feel the need to do more for our kind.

"Maybe. I know I didn't kill Stryker, but you haven't really changed my mind, Hank," I tell him. "I'm still not sure the X-Men are doing enough for mutants."

He nods and sighs in resignation, like he knows he's said everything there is to say to convince me. "If you ever do..."

"I know," I reply. "Thank you."

For a moment we just stare at each other.

Hank's looking at me with this wistful expression that makes me choke on any goodbye I can think of. I don't want to leave him, I don't. And I know he doesn't want me to go, either. Is it because he feels the same attraction that I do between us?

Judging from the look in his eyes, I think he does. And that makes it so much harder. Even though I'm trying to tell myself it's time to turn around and walk away from Hank, it's impossible to do when everything in me is being drawn to him like a fucking magnet.

I stand there, muscles completely locked in place, and fight it until I can't do it anymore.

_Oh, to hell with it._

On impulse I step closer and cup Hank's face between my hands, bringing his mouth down to mine. He's pulling me into his arms before our lips even meet, holding me close and kissing me senseless.

I only meant for it to be a sweet goodbye kiss, but the second our lips touch I forget all about that. To be honest, I kinda forget about everything except how amazing this feels.

Hank's immediate, ready response is so enthusiastic, so intense that it shakes me to the core. And then he steps forward and pushes me into the tree behind me, pressing his body flush against mine. It's so damn  _hot._  Who knew that such a sweet nerd could have so much passion inside of him?

And now he's pouring it on me so strong I feel like I'm about to lose my mind. In this moment every little molecule inside me is lighting up like Time Square at midnight. God, this is so good it hurts.

I mean seriously, the kiss we shared in that Agent Orange facility has nothing on this one. I thought that was perfect, but _damn_  was I wrong. This... this is something on an entirely different level.

He's  _everywhere,_  and I'm completely lost in him.

His scent, his taste, the way his fur and claws dance across my skin- I'm so fucking gone on this man I can't even describe it. I just know that right now the atmosphere around us feels like it's about to explode, there's so much electricity between us.

When we finally come up for air Hank leans down to touch his forehead to mine, his hand tenderly caressing my face. With the way our chests are still pressed together I can feel that his heart is beating just as fast as mine is.

"It's Vivien," I pant- not because I'm purposely going for a seductive whisper or anything, but because he's  _literally_  kissed me breathless. But I want Hank to know my name, to know that I trust him, too. "My real name is Vivien. If you were wondering."

"Vivien," he murmurs, and his voice makes a shiver run down my spine.

Oh, God help me.

_Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!/ Give me my sin again,_  I recite to myself. _Seriously, baby, kiss me again._

And Hank presses his lips to mine once more, for another kiss that burns my very soul.

Seconds, minutes, hours- I don't know how long we stay like that, wrapped up in each other and doing some serious necking. Long enough for me to start thinking some  _very_  stupid thoughts, at least.

But then the sound of a jet engine coming in low and from the east brings reality crashing down on us.

The X-Men are coming.

I somehow manage to peel myself off of Hank when I realize that, though God knows that I don't want to. I feel cold the second I step away from him and the warmth of his embrace. Cold, and this sort of hollow sadness that resonates deep inside me now that it's really time to say goodbye.

It's not like it's for forever, though. We'll meet again...

Just not on such friendly terms.

I brush the back of my hand across Hank's cheek and try to give him a smile. "I'll see you in the field, Hank," I tell him ruefully.

And then I run away into the forest before he can reply.

I don't go too far, though. Just enough to where an observer wouldn't be able to spot me as I hide behind a tree.

I'm still close enough to see the X-Jet touch down in the clearing, the ramp sliding out for Hank to climb. Once he's at the top he casts one more wistful look over his shoulder, though I know he can't see me. Before the door even shuts he's surrounded by the other X-Men, who look like they're warmly welcoming him back.

Safe. He's safe now.

I sigh, and the words finally come.

"Bye, Hank," I whisper.

* * *

I end up stealing a car (adding yet another count of grand theft auto to my list of sins) and heading south towards Vancouver, following the handy-dandy map the poor owner left in the glove compartment.

It's almost a seven hour drive.  _Plenty_  of time for me to drive myself crazy thinking about Hank.

_Hank_ , not Beast.

Though it's not like there's much of a difference anymore.

Because Hank is the sweet, ridiculously smart guy with the awesome sense of humor I got to know over the past two days. The one I could talk about British literature and laugh with over my breakfast-liberation agenda. The one who challenged the way I think about a lot of things and kissed me so passionately I thought I was going to swoon like a Victorian lady.

He's also the guy I'm insanely attracted to. His intelligence, his sense of humor, how shy he is on the surface with all that hidden sensuality underneath- God, he leaves me completely weak-in-the-knees.

But even if I  _didn't_  want to jump his bones (and I totally do), I'd still consider him a friend now. I respect Hank, and I respect what he does with the X-Men under the code name Beast.

Beast, Hank. Hank, Beast.

We're fighting for the same cause, and that's why there's no difference between the two for me anymore.

I'll never be able to really think of him as an enemy again. Or any of the X-Men, actually. They're doing good things by helping mutant kids, even if they're missing out on the larger picture. I can't truly consider them to be bad guys anymore.

Of course, that street doesn't go both ways. They're still going to try to stop me at every turn I take, even Hank. He believes that the way I'm going about this isn't really helping anything, that the Brotherhood is making it worse.

How did he put it? That we're "the monster's in humanity's closets," and nothing more.

So what's the Brotherhood  _really_  fighting for?

I'm scared to find out.

* * *

June 24, 1974

I leave my ill-gained vehicle on the side of the main highway leading into the city with the registration on the seat where the cops will see it, along with as much cash as I can spare for gas money. That way it's less like I stole it and more like I-  _borrowed it without permission,_  I suppose.

What? I've got  _some_  morals, ok?

It starts to rain really hard once I'm on foot, because that's just the run of luck I'm having right now. I just need a tornado or something to pop up and make my day complete.

_Damn. Should've taken that ride from Hank,_  I tell myself as I trudge through the downpour- though obviously I'm only kidding.

It's still kinda amusing to imagine the other X-Men's reactions to me hitching a ride back to New York with them though. Like I told Hank, it would've gone over  _so_  well.

The plus side to all the precipitation is that no one takes notice of my cloak and the way I basically look like a rat that's been drowned twice as I walk through town. I eventually spy the perfect place for the next step of my plan (which I'm totally making up as I go along).

By looking pathetic and helpless (not that hard, considering the circumstances) I manage to get the old guy at the front desk of the Vancouver public library to let me use his phone to make a long-distance call.

Me, at a library? I know, completely shocking.

It's Wanda who answers the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Wanda," I say, "it's me."

"Vivien? Oh my God!" she gasps. "We've been worried sick about you. Are you ok? Where are you? What happened-?"

Her voice is suddenly slightly muffled, like she's shouting away from the receiver.

"Vixen's on the phone! She's alive!" Wanda says. I can hear voices in the background- James, from the sounds of it, along with Myles and Peter. And then to me she repeats, "are you ok?"

"I'm fine," I assure her. "I'm in Vancouver at the library right now."

"What? A library? What happened to you?" she asks again. "How on earth did you end up in Canada?"

"I'll tell you about that when I see you," I reply, mindful of the humans nearby. "I'm just trying to get back right now. Want to tell Peter I'll buy him lunch if he comes to get me?"

Wanda's shaky laugh touches me deeply because I can hear just how worried she was about me. I'm sorry to cause her so much stress, I really am. "Will do," she promises.

I hang up after she assures me that Peter would be meeting me here within an hour or so.

"Thank you, sir," I tell the librarian politely.

"You're welcome," he replies, with a warm smile.

I go take a seat at a table nearby, huddling in my sopping wet cloak with the hood up so no one can see my ears poking through my damp hair. The waterlogged fabric is uncomfortable, but I know I can't take it off or else my knives will be visible. And my soggy jumpsuit isn't exactly common civilian wear, either.

But I think I'll take being a little wet over getting dissected any day.

"Hey," a kind voice says beside me a few minutes later. It's the librarian, and he's holding out a cup of hot tea. "You look like you could use this."

I blink at him in surprise. Damn, I  _really_  must be pathetic-looking right now.

"Thank you," I murmur, accepting the drink gratefully. "That's really nice of you. But-"

My gaze drifts over to the big "No food or drink" sign on the wall nearby.

He smiles, his eyes all twinkly. With his white hair and beard this guy could be Santa Claus. "I won't tell if you won't."

I laugh- carefully, so my fangs don't show. "You're the boss," I muse, shrugging. "Again, thank you, sir."

The librarian drifts off back to his desk, leaving me to reflect on how a kind act from a stranger can make your whole day better by reminding you about the good in humanity.

After what I saw in Stryker's lab, I definitely needed that.


	20. Welcome Back

**Welcome Back**

It takes Peter less than an hour and a half to run across the country from New York to Vancouver.

"Vixie!" he crows, appearing right next to me in the time it takes to blink. "You're alive!"

"Shhh," I hiss, glancing around. The other people in the library are giving us evil glares for the noise. And let's face it, when Peter enters a room his personality is loud even when he's not saying a word. "Save the joyous raptures for outside. Come on."

He snorts back laughter at my word choice but still tows along willingly enough. He also notices when I give the kindly old librarian one more wave of thanks on our way out. "Who's that?"

"The librarian," I explain. "He was nice enough to let me use the phone and made me tea."

Peter chuckles and opens the door for me to step out. "Making friends wherever you go, Vixie."

I roll my eyes. "Oh yeah, because I'm  _so_  friendly," I remark sarcastically. I'm not exactly in the running for Little Miss Sunshine, here.

He gives me a disbelieving look and shakes his head. But then he grins and exclaims, "time for joyous raptures!" and grabs me around the waist, swings me around, and pulls me into a rib-cracking hug.

_Ooph. Down, boy, down._

"It's good to see you, Vivien," Peter says, so earnestly I can't be annoyed with him.

"Aw. It's good to see you too, Peter," I tell him.

On impulse I step closer and kiss him on the cheek. After all, I really  _am_  grateful that he made the effort to come get me. It wasn't exactly a trip to the corner store, you know?

He somehow manages to look both pleased and sheepish at the same time. "I-  _we-_  were really worried about you. What happened?"

"I got nabbed by Stryker at that lab," I reply. "He's got another facility up north a ways, but I managed to break myself out."

_With a little help,_  I silently add, thinking of Hank.

And then instantly regretting it. I miss that big blue ball of fur already.

"Wow, I wonder if that's what happened to Beast," Peter muses.

This, obviously, catches my attention. "Huh?"

"Dad was so worried about you-"

_Magneto,_  worried?  _I would've paid to see that._

"-That he called Professor X to see if he'd ordered the X-Freaks to grab you for some reason," Peter explains. I roll my eyes- the X-Men would only do something like that when hell freezes over- but thankfully my companion doesn't see. "But they're missing a person, too. Turns out Beast disappeared at the same facility you did. Did you see him around?"

_Sure did. Got to know him, too. He's funny and sweet and his smile totally gives me butterflies._

"Nope," I reply. And since I suck at lying, I leave it at that and quickly change the subject- food is always a good topic with Peter. "Do you want lunch now or when we get back to New York?"

"How about both?"

I laugh and loop my arm in his. "I like the way you think, Peter."

* * *

For all my second thoughts about the Brotherhood, it  _is_  good to see everyone (except maybe Mastermind, because I still think he's creepy) when Peter brings me back to base. Wanda looks like she's about to cry, she's so happy to see me alive, and Magneto even deigns to give me a half-hearted pat on the shoulder.

_Aw, I'm touched. Now don't do that again._

"Sissy!" Myles cries out when I walk through the front door. He runs over and hugs me tightly, practically lifting me off the my feet. "I'm so sorry, Sissy, it was my fault. James says I shouldn't have left you alone in the lab."

I give my older brother a reproachful look over Myles' shoulder. Let's just make the mentally unstable boy feel like his sister's possible death is his fault, that wouldn't be even  _more_  emotionally damaging or anything, right?

"It's true," James says defensively.

"Whatever," I mutter. "It doesn't matter. I'm alive, and that's what counts. Right?"

"Right," he unwillingly agrees. But then when he takes his turn to hug me, James murmurs sincerely, "don't scare me like that, Sis. I thought we lost you."

_Aw, man. Why do you have to say it like that?_

The rare moment of vulnerability makes my anger melt away.

We may not be perfect, but we  _are_  family.

James and Myles are all I have, and I've gotta protect them as best I can.

* * *

July 1, 1974

Less than a week after I get back from Alkali Lake Magneto approaches me with a new mission.

"I need you to blow up a building," he tells me. "Just give me a list of the materials you need."

Well that's direct.

"What kind of building?" I ask carefully. After Hank's warnings I've resolved to be a lot more critical of the Brotherhood's plans from now on. I'm keeping my eye out for anything that doesn't smell right.

"A warehouse full of weapons meant for overseas."

"I thought the US wasn't involved in the Vietnam war anymore?"

"Don't be naive, Vixen," Magneto chides. "Humans are killing each other all over the world, not just Vietnam."

He's not wrong on that one, I guess. And since destroyed weapons can't be used to kill more people, I shouldn't be morally opposed.

"Alright. I'll write you a list."

Magneto's as good as his word, too- it only takes him a few hours to get the things I need to whip up a batch of C4.

I don't appreciate the way he hovers while I make it, though. It might be paranoia, but I can't help wondering if this "mission" is just an excuse for him to learn how to manufacture explosives without me. I don't know.

_Thanks, Beast. It's not like I needed_  more _trust issues or anything._

It's for that reason that I tell my teammates that I'm going to arm the bomb myself, rather than telling Peter how and then having him zip inside the warehouse to set it up. My excuse to all of them is that I want to be sure it's done exactly right, but the truth is I don't want anyone getting a complete picture of how to make this stuff from start to finish if they put their heads together about it.

I know I should probably feel bad about being so mistrustful of my teammates, but something tells me this is the right thing to do. I've just gotta go with my gut on this one.

And it's a good thing I do.

The X-Men are already waiting for us when we arrive at the warehouse. I see Angel flying overhead and a few of the others, but I don't see Hank.

Part of me is relieved- I'm afraid of the conflicting emotions that I know I'm going to feel if I see him,  _especially_  if we have to fight. But another part is actually pretty...  _disappointed_  to miss out on the chance to catch a glimpse of him.

_Stupid, Babineaux. Stupid stupid stupid._

Speaking of stupidity-

I roll my eyes when the rest of the Brotherhood engages the X-Men in a full-frontal assault. Even if the X-Men are outnumbered like this, they have an advantage because they're occupying a defensive position.

Seriously, my teammates need to study up on some Sun Tzu or something, pronto.

Still, with everyone properly distracted it's a piece of cake for me to skirt around to the back and climb up a wall so I can break into a second-story window. You see, the key to getting into places you shouldn't be in is to enter where no one expects you to. Fighting the enemy where they're not, and all that stuff.

Once I'm in I do a quick survey of the layout. My best bet for maximum damage, I think, is a load-bearing column along the wall to my left. I head directly for it, moving silently out of habit.

And that's when I smell him.

Hank.

Hank is  _here,_  in this building that I'm supposed to blow up.

_Shit._

I track him and another X-Man- Storm- to a decent vantage point on the balcony overlooking the front door, perfectly illustrating why it's best to come in an entrance of your own making.

_Well there you go, Babineaux_ , I tell myself as I pause for a moment behind him. Y _ou got your glimpse. Are you fucking happy now?_

Definitely not.

I mean, there's no way in hell that I'm going to set this explosive with him in here.

Nope, no way. Not happening.

Without further ado I turn around and start heading back towards my makeshift exit. I don't get far, though, before I hear quiet voices coming from the X-Men's hiding spot.

Shit. Did Hank smell me? Are he and Storm coming after me now?

I instinctively duck behind some pillars and boxes, waiting tensely to see if I'm being followed.

To my relief- and ok, yeah, there's some excitement in there, too- it's just Hank who comes into view a few minutes later.

"Vivien," he whispers loudly. "Vivien-"

I know I really shouldn't, but I can't help myself. I step out from my hiding spot and give him a tentative smile.

My stomach does its fluttery thing all over again when his face lights up in that special way as soon as he catches sight of me. Aw, man.

"H-hi," Hank says, self-consciously shifting his feet.

Seriously, why does he have to be so damn cute?  _Why?_  It's really not fair, you know?

"Hi," I whisper, with a more genuine smile.

"You made it back alright?" he asks awkwardly. I can tell he's having a hard time choosing his words, trying to figure out what's safe to say in this situation.

_Wow, Hank, I guess meaningless small-talk isn't your thing, is it?_

I chuckle sympathetically. "No. You're talking to my life-model decoy," I tease. I hold up my hand and wiggle my fingers. "Very realistic, don't you think?"

He grins easily- there, that's more like it. But damn, of course that means the butterflies are back. "Yes, very. I can't even tell the difference," Hank replies. Then he takes a breath and says seriously, "I'm glad you're safe, Vivien."

His heartfelt sincerity makes me melt just a little, and I can't help laughing at myself. This man is turning me into a fucking sap, I swear. "You too, Hank."

God, there's so much I want to say to him. So many things I want to ask him, so I could know that I'm not crazy. Has he been thinking of me the way I have about him? Does he dream about that kiss in the forest? Or lay in bed at night wishing he could talk to me about Shakespeare some more?

The words slip out before I can stop them. "I've missed you, you know," I murmur. "No one will talk about books with me like you did."

Christ, how embarrassing.

I mean, it's true and everything, but still. I hate how mushy I'm starting to feel when I'm around him- I really can't afford that.

I need to get out of here.

Hank, who bashfully ducked his head and started blushing purple at my words (again, why?  _Why_  does he have to be so adorable?) glances up now, as I start to back away. "Vivien, wait-" he says, stepping closer.

"I can't stay," I tell him, grinning bitterly. The block of C4 in my pocket suddenly feels really heavy, like a big fat glob of guilt. "I'm the only one who could get by your people outside. I'd say that's mission aborted for the night."

It's bending the truth a bit, I'll admit.

But I don't want to hurt anyone, and I have a feeling Hank isn't exactly going to go for it if I ask him and his buddy Storm to leave the building so I can blow it up. Even if I ask nicely.

"I'll- I'll see you around, Hank."

And once again, I run away before he can reply.


	21. An Island

**An Island**

The first thing I see when I come back around the building is James grinning sickeningly as he chokes the life out of a redheaded female X-Man- Marvel Girl, I think her name is.

Jesus, she's even younger than Myles is. She's also telekinetic, if my observations of her in the past are anything to go by.

What an awesome power to have. I know if I were her I'd be using that to toss a brick or something at my brother's stupid head, but I think the lack of oxygen has kinda made her presence of mind go out the window. Her eyes are bugging out of her head at this point and her hands are clutching uselessly against James' grip at her throat.

Marvel Girl is panicking, plain and simple, and my brother is trying to fucking  _kill_  her. Like she's Little Red Riding Hood and he's the Big Bad Wolf.

It breaks my heart to admit it, but right now I have no doubt who the bad guy in this situation is.

"Fox!" I shout. "Come on, let's go."

No reaction.

"Fox!" I snap, coming closer.

"One second," James says absently.

Oh for the love of God.

The fascinated look on his face reminds me of a kid burning ants to death under a magnifying glass. But instead of little bugs, my brother is watching, entranced, as a young girl turns blue at his hands.

_I wish we weren't related,_  I want to say.  _For fuck's sake, right now I wish I didn't even know you, James._

"No," I hiss. I reach out and shove him. "Let's go,  _now."_

James blinks, finally snapping out of it and looking at me.

But still not letting go of Marvel Girl.

"Did you set the bomb?" he asks.

"No," I reply. I can't take my gaze away from the poor girl dying in front of me, who's silently pleading for her life with her eyes. "Fox, let her go-"

_"What?_  Why not?" he demands.

"There's people in there," I tell him. "Beast and Storm."

"So?"

_"So,_  I'm not going to-"

"Dammit, Vixen!" James snarls.

He drops Marvel Girl, which is good, but he only does it because he's reaching for me like he wants to throttle me next. Not so good.

But fuck that. He'll have to catch me first.

I take off running, with James scrambling behind me.

"Let's go!" I shout to the other Brotherhood members as we pass by- let them think that we're trying to get clear of a blast zone, I don't care. Thankfully they immediately go into a full-blown retreat, following me.

_Thank you_ , a soft, feminine voice suddenly whispers in my head as I run. Hearing that makes me almost piss myself in surprise.

_What the fuck?_

It takes me a second to realize that the voice was Marvel Girl. In my  _mind._  Super fucking creepy, right?

_Uh, you're welcome?_  I think uncertainly. I'm not really sure how this shit works.  _Now excuse me, running for my life here._

I've got enough of a head start that I'm able to make a running leap about fifteen feet up into a tree when we reach the rendezvous point, a small clearing where Magneto is waiting for us all.

"Vixen?" he queries, looking up at me. Damn, if I wasn't so freaked out right now I'd think the surprised look on his face was funny.

And then everyone else shows up.

Aw, fuck me. Right now I know exactly how a treed raccoon feels out in the bayou.

"Uh, what's going on?" Peter asks confusedly. "Vixie, why are you up there?"

"Get down here, Vivien," James yells up at me.

I bare my fangs at him. "Fat chance, asshole."

"Enough," Magneto snaps.

_Oh, I'm_  so _scared, big Boss Man._

"Explain yourselves,  _now._ "

"Vixen didn't set off that bomb, boss," James says quickly, before I can offer my own version of events. "She ignored orders and-"

"Right, I'm sorry I'm not a perfect little soldier who follows orders without question," I hiss down at him. "The situation changed, I had to adapt. I wasn't going to set off an explosion when there were  _people_  in that building-"

"X-Men," my brother retorts.

"Mutants!" I snarl back at him. "Our own kind!"

James shakes his head. "That doesn't matter, Vivien," he growls. "Sacrifices have to be made. We're going to do what needs to be done, even if that means taking out our own kind if they stand in our way."

He glances around hopefully at our teammates.

"Right, guys?"

"Right," Mastermind agrees.

Myles nods.

Ouch, that stung.

Peter and Wanda exchange a loaded look before the silver-haired twin speaks for them both. "They're soldiers, Vixie," he says, his expression pleading. "Sometimes soldiers are collateral damage."

Collateral damage?

The words come to me now, floating past the intervening months and how fucking pissed I was at the time.

Hank, telling me that "collateral damage" is just a term lazy people use to excuse themselves when their actions cause unnecessary pain and death.

_Oh God. I understand now, Hank. I really do._

I'm probably a shitty person because I didn't get it until someone I consider to be a friend basically got called cannon fodder, but still. I realize now that that attitude isn't right.

But looking down at my teammate's faces, I know I'm in the minority with that opinion. My brothers and Mastermind are glaring daggers in my direction for the fuck up, and the twins look kinda worried for me. Magneto's staring up at me like I just failed some sort of test or something.

Jesus. I'm not just in the minority. I'm a fucking  _island._

You know how I said that there's a difference between being alone and being lonely? Well right now, I feel more lonely than I ever have in my entire life.

* * *

July 26, 1974

I keep to myself for a while after that rather eye-opening night.

It sucks to know that my teammates are perfectly fine with killing other mutants, especially for such a stupid reason. I mean, it's not like that building had a big strategic importance or anything, and all of them just kinda shrugged off the idea of people  _dying_  over it.

I don't agree with that. I can't, and I won't.

God, just thinking about it makes me pissed off all over again.

For that reason I find myself grumbling and kneading my biscuit dough with a bit too much gusto one Friday afternoon a few weeks later.

"What are you making?" asks an oily voice from the doorway that immediately puts my teeth on edge.

Oh great, it's Mastermind. Just what I needed to make my day absolutely perfect.

I don't like him, ok?

The way he looks at me- and Wanda, too-  _really_  creeps me out. Like we're something to eat, or he's undressing us with his eyes. It's just  _weird._

And then there's been a couple times where he tried to come into the bathroom while I was taking a shower. He pretended like he didn't know I was in there, but it doesn't take a genius to know that's a bullshit excuse,  _especially_  since the goddamn door was locked. Fucking pervert.

So I'm not exactly gracious with my answer. "Food," I reply shortly.

Mastermind harrumphs and steps farther into the kitchen, making my shoulders automatically tense.

For a few minutes he just stands there watching me in that creepy-ass mannequin way he does a lot. It makes my skin crawl, but because he's not really doing anything else I let it lie.

"Care to share?" he asks suggestively.

I snort in derision. "Uh, no?" I reply. I'm trying to sound as bitchy as possible on purpose, trust me.

But instead of heeding the obvious hint, Mastermind steps even closer. Like, I can feel his nasty breath stirring my hair. It's  _disgusting._

"Hey," I snarl, edging away. I turn to throw an elbow in his face. "Fuck off, you-"

I freeze as soon as my eyes meet his.

Mastermind grins. "You don't really mean that, do you?" he whispers.

I open my mouth to say  _yeah, actually, I really do_ , but then this weird sort of mist clouds my vision for a split second and that's  _definitely_  not what comes out.

"No," I reply, giggling coyly.

"That's what I thought," he says. And he makes that final step into my personal space, pinning me between the counter and his body.

But I don't panic.

Instead I smile and put my hands on his chest, provocatively pressing my hips to his. The idea of him taking me, right here, in this kitchen, sounds  _really_ hot. It has every muscle below the waist going all tight in anticipation and need.

I want this. I want  _him._

My hands trail down his shirt, down past the waistband of his pants to rest against his crotch, where I can feel his growing excitement.

"Are you  _sure_  you're not in a sharing mood?" he presses, chuckling. His hands come up to brush along my shoulders, sending sparks of desire down my skin. "Because  _I_  think you are."

_Yes, yes I am. Why would I not be, with such a powerful, strong, sexy-_

Wait, what was that?

Seriously, Mastermind is none of those things. He's a dirty old man and a big fat wuss and I hate his guts.

So  _why_  exactly am I groping him right now? There's no fucking way I'm doing this shit on purpose. This... this isn't  _real._

Which means-

I squeeze his junk,  _hard,_  and start twisting. "You think that's fucking funny, huh?" I hiss, baring my fangs right in his face. "Do you, you  _sick,_  perverted fuck?"

Mastermind's only answer is to whimper. He can't chance backing away from me, though, or else he might come away one testicle short.

"If you ever try to fuck with my head again I'll make you choke on your own dick," I snarl. I twist a little harder. "You understand me?"

He's got tears in his eyes as he nods, but I'm fresh out of fucks to give.

"Good." I let go and shove him backwards. "Now stay the hell away from me."

I'm not going to lie- after what he just did it feels pretty good to watch him scamper away like the little weasel he is. But the feeling doesn't last long.

The thought of what almost happened makes my skin crawl. It doesn't matter that physically Mastermind barely touched me, the fact that he invaded my mind and took away my free will like that really freaked me out.

I feel vulnerable in the worst way right now. What if he tries that shit again? Will I be able to shake off his mind control a second time?

Wanda comes into the kitchen then, her expression puzzled. "Hey, Vivien, did you do something to Mastermind?" she asks. "Because he looked like he was about to cry when I passed him just now."

I growl quietly. "What else is new?" I mutter. "Fucking coward."

Her confusion morphs into horror when she sees just how pissed I am. "Oh God, is he doing it to you, too?" she squeaks.

_Um, did she just say_  "too?"

"'Too?'" I repeat. "What do you mean,  _too_? Has he been fucking with your head, Wanda?"

She nods uneasily.

"Why haven't you said anything?" I demand. "Jesus, Wanda, you can't let him get away with this shit."

"Nothing's happened," Wanda replies quickly. "I've always managed to snap out of it before... you know. Did he-? With you-?"

I shake my head. "God, no. I realized something was weird because I was thinking all this stuff about him that I'd  _never_  do in reality. What about you?"

"Same here," she says.

"Interesting..." I murmur. An idea hits me then. "I wonder if that's how to keep him out? If you can poke a hole in his illusion, get yourself to believe it isn't real, you can shake him off."

Wanda nods slowly, thinking it over. "I think you're right," she muses. "That's definitely a good thing to keep in mind."

"Are you going to tell your dad?" I ask.

She shakes her head, her eyes wide in horror. "No way," she replies.

"You should, though," I press. "That prick is good and scared of me now, but I'm worried about you-"

"I don't want to cause issues on the team," Wanda interjects.

I scoff. "Wanda, this is about your peace of mind. Feeling safe in your own home," I tell her firmly. "Who gives a shit about team issues when-"

_"You_  might not, but some of us do," my friend snaps.

Well, ouch. That really stung.

If I'm being honest with myself I have to admit that Wanda's right, though. I  _don't_  care about causing issues with the Brotherhood if I feel like what we're doing is wrong. I'm a bad teammate that way. A bad soldier.

I guess my expression shows my hurt, because Wanda immediately looks contrite. "I'm sorry, Vivien," she says quickly. "I didn't mean that-"

"Yes, you did," I retort dully.

She flounders for a second before stepping in to give me a big hug. "Sorry," she repeats. But she doesn't try to say she didn't mean it again.

We'd both know she'd be lying if she did.


	22. Girls' Night Out

**Girl's Night Out**

"You know what we should do? We should go out somewhere," Wanda suggests brightly, stepping away from the embrace after a painful pause. "Just you and me. A girl's night, you know?"

I stare at her incredulously.

How exactly did we just go from "Vivien is a terrible teammate" to "let's go have a female bonding experience?" Unless that's the point? To make me a less-awful teammate by bringing us together more?

Part of me wants to tell Wanda that bonding with my teammates isn't the problem. After all, you can't get any closer than siblings, and then I like her and Peter plenty. Mastermind can go crawl into a hole and die for all I care, but I don't have a problem with anyone else.

What makes me a bad soldier is how I can't bring myself to just blindly follow orders if I don't agree with them. Having a girl's night isn't going to fix that shit, is it?

Wanda looks so excited, though, that I can't tell her no.

And maybe it'll do me some good to get away from base for a bit. Away from my brothers and the rest of the Brotherhood, to forget all my nagging thoughts about Alkali Lake- and a certain furry blue individual- with a night of fun.

"Alright," I agree. "Let's go."

* * *

Club X hasn't changed much from the last time I was here.

That amazing atmosphere of mutants just being free to be themselves is still going strong, and it's sorta liberating to be around so many strangers without feeling self-conscious about my physical mutations.

More than that- without any brothers around to scare away the menfolk, me and Wanda are enjoying the attention we're getting from the male species tonight. Neither of us have to fork over any money to pay for drinks, and there's no shortage of guys to dance with. It's  _awesome._

For the first time in basically forever, I get to act like a normal twenty-one year old girl out having fun with a friend. It's honestly an out-of-body experience for me.

And I'm not the only one having a good time.

I'm out on the dance floor with a really cute guy when Wanda approaches me, giggling, with another male in tow. "I'm going to head out with Paul," she tells me, blushing a little. "Don't worry about waiting for me."

My mouth drops open in shock- that was  _not_  something I expected from her. Wanda Maximoff, going home with a guy she just met? God, what would Magneto say? Or  _do?_

_You know what? For the sake of everyone involved- and probably half the people on the East Coast, too- let's just not tell him._

"What?" Wanda asks, looking a little defensive.

I shake my head. "Nothing," I reply quickly. And really, I've got no problem with this. If I did I'd be the biggest hypocrite to walk the earth, you know? "You get him, Wanda. But- be safe, ok?"

She grins and raises her hand. "I can take care of myself," she assures me, as little sparks or red light arc between her fingers.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," I agree, laughing.

Wanda hugs me before disappearing into the crowd with her beau, leaving me to marvel for a second at this newfound audacity in my friend before I go back to dancing with my brown-eyed cutie.

"How about a drink?" my partner leans in- much closer than really necessary, because he's only half a foot taller than me- to ask eventually. Still, his hands on my hips feel  _really_  nice, if you know what I mean.

"Sure."

He promises to get me a screwdriver while I take a seat on one of the red velvet couches that ring the dance floor and watch the mutants having a good time.

God, it feels good to be here. To just pretend that I'm not part of an organization that may or may not be full of terrorists for one night, to enjoy the company of a handsome man who wants to buy my drinks and dance with me.

"Thanks," I tell said man when he returns, drinks in hand, and takes the seat next to me.

"So," the guy says, grinning and scooting closer. The action makes his brown hair kinda flop into his eyes, all artfully disheveled. "Tell me your life story."

I snort. "My life story is a little too heavy to be laying on someone I just met."

_Understatement._

"Alright, I'll start with your name then," he counters.

The way he says it- like a guy trying to strike a deal or something- makes me laugh.

"Aw, com'on," he coaxes. "If you don't tell me your name I'll have to make one up for you."

"Fine," I reply, faking a little exasperation. "It's Vivien."

"Vivien," he repeats. "Wow, that's the name I was going to make up for you. Crazy, right?"

I roll my eyes.  _"Sure_  it was," I retort sarcastically.

His smile is perfect, like a model's. All perfectly straight, bright white teeth. "I'm Greg," he tells me.

"Pleasure to meet you, Greg," I say, holding out a hand to shake.

Only he doesn't shake it- he brings my hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. "The pleasure is all mine," Greg murmurs, with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows.

He's charming, I'll give him that. Probably  _too_  charming for my taste, really, because it's coming across like he's reading off a script to get me in bed. His self-confidence is attractive, sure, but the superficiality kinda detracts from that.

I guess I like guys to be more sincere, more  _sweet,_  I suppose, than smooth. More...

More like Hank, maybe?

Hank.

Adorably shy, earnest Hank, who would probably blush bright purple if I asked him to dance with me in a place like this. He'd be nervous at first, of course, but he'd loosen up eventually and hold me close and look down at me with that special light in his eyes. The one that's a smile without a smile and makes my heart beat a little faster when I see it.

Afterwards we would sit and talk about anything and everything and completely forget where we were until last call. Being with him would make it the best night I'd ever had, hands down.

And then he'd offer to take me home, and at the door I'd pull him in to kiss him until we both couldn't take it anymore-

Aw, fuck.

A little bit of sparkle suddenly goes out of the night, thinking about my favorite fur ball and everything that can never be between us. Why did I have to remind myself of him, dammit?

_You've gotta forget about him, Babineaux,_  I tell myself sternly.

Don't I know it.

"Come on, honey," I tell Greg. "Time to dance."

* * *

"What do you say to us getting out of here?" Greg asks a couple hours later. "Going back to my place?"

"Ok," I agree- quickly, before I can talk myself out of it. I figure going to bed with another guy would be a good first step in forgetting about Hank, right?

"You know, you never told me what your powers are," Greg comments once we're in his car- a kinda shabby Ford, but I'm not one to judge a guy on stuff like that.

"You never asked," I laugh. "All that dancing doesn't make much time for conversation, right?"

"No, I guess not," he agrees. "Well?"

"I'm a feral," I explain. To me that's answer enough, really, because my powers are so much a part of me that I can't really separate myself from them. Even my more primal instincts, my inner feral-  _Vixen,_  I suppose you could say- are just something I've accepted about myself.

"So the fangs...?"

I shrug. "Come with the territory," I tell him. "Is that a problem?"

"No," Greg says quickly. "I mean, you're like this sexy little kitten or something."

Well that's definitely not something I've been called before. A kitten, really? God, I wish I was taller and actually had boobs. Maybe then people would stop treating me like a little girl.

"What about you?" I ask. And if the question comes out through my teeth, can you really blame me?

"I can control electronics," he explains, completely oblivious to my irritation. He reaches out a hand towards the radio and flips it on without touching it. "See?"

"That's awesome," I say- and I actually mean it, too. "No problems with lost remotes at your place, right?"

Greg chuckles. "I don't even have one," he admits.

The rest of the drive is spent making small talk. Greg's not exactly a sparkling conversationalist, especially when compared to Hank, but I like him a lot better now that he's not reading off that metaphorical "get-Vivien-naked" script.

And let's face it, Hank isn't exactly a good yardstick to judge anyone else by. He's a freaking  _genius,_  after all, and-

_Dammit, Babineaux, stop thinking about him!_

I can't really help it, though.

Especially once Greg leads me up to his apartment and starts to kiss me. I wait for a rush of ecstasy, that sensation of getting swept away to come over me- for Christ's sake, I fucking  _will_  it to happen-

But nope.

He's actually a damn good kisser, too. It's just... not  _doing_  much for me, I guess. I find myself wishing that he had fangs to brush across my lips, claws to trail across my skin.

Still, I force myself to pull Greg in by the collar and start undoing the buttons of his shirt. He pushes me towards his bed and straddles me when we fall back onto the mattress.

_Come on, Babineaux, come on,_  I think as his hands start to wander.  _What the hell is wrong with you?_

I mean, Greg is really hot and a pretty nice guy. He's got plenty of  _expertise,_  if you know what I mean, judging from what his hand is currently doing up under my skirt.

There's absolutely  _no_  reason for me to not want to sleep with him. I just...

I break away from the kiss with a heavy sigh. Greg takes this as a cue to start kissing down my neck.

"Wait," I say, putting my hands on his chest.

"What's wrong, baby?" he murmurs right against my ear. Ugh, talk about humidity.

"I don't think I want to do this."

Greg chuckles, and because he's so close to my ear it's  _really_  loud for my sensitive hearing. "Uh huh, sure."

I count to three in my head to give him a chance, but he doesn't move. "No, seriously," I say, more forcefully now. I reach down and grab his hand out from underneath my dress. "Stop."

Now he's annoyed. "What? Why?" Greg demands.

When I attempt to scoot out from underneath him he rolls on top of me more, trying to pin me down.

Ok,  _clearly_  this fuck didn't understand me when I said I'm a feral mutant. I may be small, but I bet I could break his wrist if we got into an arm-wrestling match. And trying to restrain me is just going to make my nastier, more primal instincts flair up.

He's  _not_  going to like where that goes.

I easily shove Greg off me. "Because I changed my mind," I reply, sitting up.

"Wait," he says, grabbing my arm. "Come on-"

"I'm sorry," I tell him truthfully. "I really am. But I don't want this. Sorry."

I feel bad for that, too. Changing my mind at this point is pretty cruel, but I can't go through with this. Not when I know deep down how wrong it is that I'm just using this guy to forget about Hank.

Sometimes I really hate having a conscience.

"What the  _fuck?"_  Greg snaps. "You  _knew_  what we were going to do when you agreed to come back here."

"And I changed my mind."

"You can't just-"

"Actually, I  _can,"_  I retort. To prove the point I stand up and straighten my dress. "Don't worry, I'll let myself out."

And then Greg gets nasty. "Whatever, you fucking cock tease," he shouts, trailing after me as I head for the door. "I can't believe you turned out to be such a bitch-"

Alright, maybe I don't feel so bad about stopping anymore. Not with him suddenly turning into such a colossal douche bag.

_I guess I should thank you for setting my conscience at ease, asshole._

When I try to open the door Greg reaches over me to keep it closed.

"Wait," he says, his voice suddenly pleading. "Baby, com'on-"

Is he fucking serious right now?

I roll my eyes. "Right, because calling me a bitch  _totally_  made me hot for you again," I retort sardonically. "Nice try. Now excuse me-"

But Greg slaps my hand away when I reach for the door handle. "No," he hisses, and then he tries to pin me to the wall.

Ok, I'm officially pissed off now.

I bare my fangs at him and  _snarl._

_Not such a sexy little kitten anymore, huh?_ I think when he startles slightly, giving me just enough space to deck him in the face with a solid right hook.

Greg stumbles backwards, clutching his bleeding nose and whimpering pathetically.

"Who's the bitch now?" I mutter.

And then I let myself out.


	23. Entering the Twilight Zone

**Entering the Twilight Zone**

_The fucking_  nerve _of some people,_  I gripe to myself as I stomp down the stairs.  _Like a girl- or a guy- doesn't have the right to change their mind about screwing someone up until after it's actually over, Jesus._

First Mastermind, now Greg. It's really just not my day.

I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself by the time I get down to the street and start considering my options. I'm practically across town from Club X and, more importantly, Wanda's car.

Hailing a cab back there would be the most logical choice, but I'm too irritated at this point to sit in the back seat and make small talk with a stranger. Nope, I'm in the mood to sulk and complain to myself about how much men fucking  _suck._

God, where's a big bucket of ice cream when you need it?

In the end I decide to head for my safe house to spend the night. It's a lot closer than the club, and that way I can protect Wanda from any questions about her sexcapades if I show up back at base without her.

Some girls' night this turned out to be. Man, Wanda dropped me like a hot potato, didn't she?

I mean, I guess I get it. After having that creeper Mastermind fucking with her head for so long my friend felt the need to go out and make her  _own_  choice about who gets in her pants. Girl power, and all that.

It still kinda sucked to leave me like that, though. But maybe I'm just bitter that my own attempt to get laid turned out to be a total fucking disaster.

Just a little.

The walk to my safe house is both a blessing and a curse for me. It feels good to walk off a little bit of my anger, but there's also  _way_  too much time to think about what just happened.

_So you weren't into Greg,_  I tell myself.  _No big deal. Maybe you subconsciously picked up on his bad vibes and that's what turned you off._

It doesn't  _have_  to be because I wanted him to magically turn into Hank, right? For it to suddenly be Hank touching me, to be kissing me and taking me to bed.

But maybe it is. Just a little.

God dammit.

"You're such a fucking idiot, Babineaux," I mutter. "You don't even know him that well, and you're all hung up-"

And then I hear something that makes my self-directed diatribe come to a screeching halt.

A male voice, pleading desperately, carries to me from up ahead.

"Wait- please don't-"

The sound of flesh hitting flesh cuts him off.

"Shut up, you fucking homo!" someone else snarls.

That guy starts to laugh then, and he's joined by a few other men. They jeer and throw out all sorts of names you'd hear at your average Ku Klux Klan rally. Keeping it classy, I guess.

It's pretty obvious from the noises that follow that someone is getting the shit beaten out of himself by a bit of a crowd.

How much of a crowd? I don't know just yet, but it doesn't really matter, does it? I mean, when you see (or hear) something wrong happening, and you don't at least  _try_  to stop it, you're part of the fucking problem.

In my opinion, anyway.

I pick up the pace, moving silently for half a block until I finally lay eyes on the beat down in progress.

It's four skinhead guys who look like they're late for a Neo-Nazi meeting beating the crap out of this poor black kid. He's given up trying to defend himself at this point and is just curled up in a ball waiting for it to be over. Probably a smart move, because struggling would just rile them up even  _more._

But unfortunately it looks like these fucks won't be satisfied until he's dead.

"Pick him up," one guy orders, even as I sneak up on them.

Two of the others obey, gripping their victim by the arms to keep him upright because he keeps slumping over in pain. The fourth jerk-off holds the kid's head in place, baring his throat.

And now the asshole who spoke pulls a switchblade and starts stalking forward-

"Please-" the poor man whimpers.

Then I arrive at the knife-wielding psycho's side and grab his wrist, making him- and his racist, homophobic friends- jump about a mile because I appeared so suddenly. "Careful," I say, smiling sweetly. "You could hurt someone with that."

His mean little eyes narrow at me. "Fuck off, girly," he sneers.

He tries to tug his arm free, but I only grip it harder. "Sorry, can't," I reply. "Now drop the knife before someone gets hurt."

Again Fuck-Face tries to pull away, but I don't let him. A tremor of concern flickers in his eyes because I'm obviously a helluva lot stronger than I look.

"Com'on, Phil," one of the other guys urges.

"Last chance, Phil," I tell him, but he once again just tries to break free.

You can't say I didn't warn him, right?

I dig my claws into his wrist and twist, forcing Phil to drop the knife with an exclamation of surprise and pain. Then I throw an elbow into his face before he can recover. When he drops to his knees I shove him backwards several feet with a kick to the chest.

At this point the other three goons decide to join in on the fun. They drop their victim and come at me all at once.

Maybe I should be worried about the odds- after all, it's not every day I try to take on three big ass dudes at once. But I'm not. I'm too focused on doing what I  _know_  is right- saving this defenseless man from a bunch of bigots- to really think about how this  _might_  not be such a great idea.

Nope, it's time to kick some ass.

In high heels, no less.

I duck under one tool when he tries to tackle me, causing him to fly over my back. I wrap my arm around the next guy's waist and use him as leverage to put both feet into the chest of the last one, knocking him back into the wall. The sound his head makes when he smacks into the bricks tells me he's not getting up any time soon.

Then I arc myself forward so my momentum throws the guy I'm holding onto against the ground. The impact knocks him out, easy.

From my crouching position it's easy to leap up and lock my legs around that first fucktard's neck. I punch him in the temple and flip myself backwards, taking him with me so he lands flat on his back, out cold.

Which just leaves my good old buddy Phil. He's recovered at this point, and when I rise to a standing position he's waiting to wrap a hand around my throat.

Cute. Real cute.

I bare my fangs at Phil and growl-  _definitely_  not the reaction he was expecting. Then I punch the crook of his elbow, forcing him to release me, and knee him in the junk.

"Sorry, but not really," I mutter as he falls over, clutching his jewels and squealing like the little bitch he is. I dart over and grab the black guy's hand. "Come on, let's go."

He stumbles along behind me as I get us the fuck away from there. I don't stop until we're at least three blocks from Phil and Friends.

"You ok?" I ask the man once we're a safe distance off.

Instead of answering at first he puts his hands on his knees, huffing and puffing a little. I can't really blame him for that, I guess. Getting your ass kicked and then having to run away immediately after probably takes a lot out of you.

"I never seen a girl do somethin' like that," he gasps out finally.

"I'm not exactly your average girl," I mutter.

"W-what are you, then?"

The question- along with the obvious unease behind it- kinda hurts my feelings. I'm pretty sure a guy I just saved from racist bigots is about to freak out on me for being a mutant.

Oh, the irony.

But what else should I expect, considering how things are between humans and mutants these days? Even the good things we do gets lost in the shuffle because people are too scared of us to think anything different.

To cover up my dismay I chuckle bitterly and say, "I'm a monster in God's closet."

Saying that, of course, makes me think of  _Hank,_  which then leads to  _Greg,_  and then to what happened with Mastermind. And now I'm here, about to get rejected after saving this guy's ass from four Hitler-wannabes.

Fuck me, today has been a bad day.

Imagine my surprise when this guy scoffs a little and retorts, "that don't make any sense. Those homeboys were gonna kill me, and you saved my ass. Thank you, for that, by the way. Now, I know all about closets, honey, and you definitely ain't a monster. What are you, for real?"

This startles me into a laugh. "I'm a mutant," I admit.

He grins, the white of his teeth contrasting nicely against the chocolate-brown of his skin. "Well I'll be. I've never known a mutant before. Nice to meet you," he tells me, holding out a hand to shake. "I'm Marcel Jennings."

"Vivien Babineaux," I reply, feeling pretty damn relieved as I return the gesture. "You sure you're ok touching a mutant?"

Marcel scoffs again. "Even if I cared about that shit you'd still be the girl who just saved my life, mutant or not," he says seriously. "You got a problem touching a gay man?"

"Nope."

"Alright then." He appraises me closely for a moment before speaking again. "Wanna come meet my friends, Vivien?"

"That depends. Are they like Phil and the Three Stooges back there?" I ask warily.

He chuckles, which then causes him to wince a little. The poor guy. "Naw," he says.

Don't ask me why, but against my better judgment I agree. What can it hurt, right?

Marcel leads me a couple blocks over, deep into Hell's Kitchen. It's actually not that far from my safe house.

"Here we go," he says, gesturing towards an alleyway.

_Um..._

"Is this like your hang out or something?"

"Naw, this is where we live," Marcel explains.

"In an alley," I observe doubtfully.

"Yeah," he replies. "See, my daddy didn't take too kindly to having a gay son, so he kicked me out of his house. One of those people who can't understand that I was born like this, ya know?"

"I can relate," I mutter dryly.

Marcel chuckles. "Yeah, you would, baby girl, wouldn't you?" he agrees. I see his gaze pass over my ears, which are visible tonight because of how I styled my hair for Club X. "Anywho, for a while I bummed around on my own, til I found these folks. They're good people, just down on their luck is all. We're like a family round here."

I honestly have no idea how to respond to that, I really don't. I mean, on one hand I guess it's nice that Marcel has some sort of family. But on the other... he's fucking  _homeless._

Suddenly my day doesn't seem so bad anymore.

"Lead the way," I tell him.

When we approach I see that there's a small group of people gathered around a metal trash barrel with a fire going in it. Maybe eleven adults, and I also see a baby in the arms of one of the females. God, a  _baby_  out here?

Once the gathering catches sight of us we immediately become the center of attention.

"Hey Marcel, you been picking up strays?" one woman asks. "Wow- this one's dressed real pretty."

"Marcel, I thought you said you was  _gay,"_  a man calls out. "What you doing, bringing back a  _girl_?"

"Hey now, hey now," Marcel interjects. "Y'all, this is my new friend Vivien. She just saved me from four thugs who thought I needed a couple new holes in me."

The others eye me incredulously. The " _yeah,_ sure _she did_ " is written all over their faces.

I grin widely, making sure my fangs show. "I'm stronger than I look," I explain.

And then I hold my breath, half-expecting all of them to lose their shit about this strange creature in their midst.

"Well look at you," a woman breathes, kinda awestruck. "Are you a mutant?"

I nod warily.

"Wow, nice to meet you. I've never met a mutant before. I'm Theresa," she says, speaking so fast she almost trips over her words. She kinda gives the impression of being a little spastic. "And thanks for saving Marcel. He's a pain in the ass, but-"

And she breaks off giggling, because Marcel is swatting at her playfully. Everyone laughs at them, and there isn't a freak out in sight.

_Jesus Christ, is this even real?_  I ask myself, as everyone else introduces themselves.

They're all being so damn nice that I'm seriously wondering if I just stepped into the Twilight Zone or something. These humans know that I'm a mutant and are still treating me like... like I'm a  _person._

It's fucking incredible.

_You know what? I think I'm going to like these people._


	24. The Island of Misfit Toys

**The Island of Misfit Toys**

"This here is Mr. Cole," Marcel announces, pointing to an older white man sitting a little ways down the alley. He looks like he could've been a body builder once upon a time, before life somehow took a wrong turn into this alley here. "Hey, Mr. Cole, meet my new friend."

Mr. Cole smiles genially, but he doesn't turn his head to face us.

Um, ok.

"This is Vivien," Marcel explains. "Vivien, Mr. Cole."

"Hello, Mr. Cole," I offer uncertainly. "Nice to meet you?"

"Hello," the man says. He holds out a hand, which I lean down and shake out of politeness. I'm weirded out, though, because the dude's still not looking at me. "You sing, don't you?"

Um... officially even  _more_  weirded out now.

"Um, yeah, I do," I reply. "How'd you know?"

"Your voice. I can tell," Mr. Cole explains, chuckling. "She as pretty as she sounds, Marcel?"

And then it hits me- this dude is fucking  _blind._

Blind  _and_  homeless, Jesus Christ. "Down on his luck" seems like a bit of an understatement for this guy. How the hell did he end up in this situation?

"Mhmm," Marcel tells his friend. "Baby girl's blonde, hazel eyes, and got legs for  _days."_

This startles me into laughter. "Why thank you, Marcel," I say modestly. I mean hey, when a guy who bats for the other team gives you a compliment, you've gotta know it's sincere, right?

"Alright, everybody," one woman calls out- Betty, I want to say she told me her name was. She's the one with the baby. "It's getting pretty late so I'm going to put Johnny down for the night."

"I think that might be my cue to make my exit," I murmur. "But I'd like to come back here and visit, if that's ok?"

"Don't be a stranger," Mr. Cole says sincerely.

Marcel grins and nods in agreement, but I kinda get the feeling that he doesn't believe that I'll come here again. Like maybe I'm put off by the homeless thing or something.

Boy, is he wrong.

* * *

July 30, 1974

Not only do I come back to visit Marcel, I return bearing gifts.

"Vivien?" he asks when he sees me approaching the following week, raising his eyebrows incredulously. "What you got there?"

"Take a look," I tell him, setting down my paper bags full of canned food and other necessities.

I figure this route would be my best bet for helping these guys. They obviously have no way to refrigerate anything out here, but a can of beans will keep no matter where they put it. And then warming the food up is as easy as opening a can and putting it on top of one of their barrel fires. Easy, right?

Marcel is staring at me like I just grew a second head or something.

"You brought this for us?" he asks uncertainly.

I nod.

"But why?"

Jesus, how do I even begin to explain it?

See, I've never had a human still treat me like I'm a person after finding out I'm a mutant- well, except for my dad of course, but I don't think that really counts.

But these people  _did,_  and I can't describe how much that means to me. It makes me feel drawn to them somehow.

It sounds stupid, but I feel a sense of...  _kinship,_  I guess? with these folks.

They're all homeless for one reason or another- Marcel, for example, for being gay, Theresa for running away from an abusive husband and then getting into drugs. Everyone has a story for how they got here. And those various reasons- along with the fact that they're homeless- give them a stigma in the eyes of the outside world that I totally relate to.

They're an Island of Misfit Toys, and they welcomed me with open arms. So to say "thank you" for that I want to help them, if I can. I mean sure, a bag full of Chef Boyardee and chicken noodle soup isn't going to do much, but it's better than  _nothing,_  right?

So yeah, that's why.

But since I kinda suck at expressing myself, I just shrug and ask Marcel, "are you complaining?"

He shakes his head quickly and chuckles. "No."

"Alright then."

"What you got there, y'all?" Harry, one of the other guys, calls out from further down the alley.

"My guardian angel just brought us food, everybody," Marcel replies proudly. Then, more quietly to me, "Vivien, thank you. You're a miracle, baby girl. Seriously."

And he wraps me up in this big hug that shocks me  _almost_  as much as what he said does.

I mean- yeah, right.  _Me,_  an angel?

Now there's a good joke. I'm pretty sure angels aren't supposed to blow shit up and occasionally kill people, the way I've had to in the past. I barely even consider myself to be a good person most of the fucking time, though I do  _try._

And then for some reason Hank comes to mind now.

God, what would he say if he saw me here, reaching out to these humans like this? I bet he would look at me with that lit-up expression on his face and tell me some bullshit about making mutants not be the monsters in people's closets anymore or some hippie crap like that. I can almost hear him now...

Dammit, I  _really_  need to stop thinking about him.

Before I can respond to Marcel we're surrounded by the others, who take it in turns to shake my hand or even mimic Marcel to hug me in thanks.

Seriously,  _hugs_ of gratitude for the mutant.

I'm hearing Twilight Zone music again.

The attention makes me a little uncomfortable, to be honest. I didn't bring this stuff because I was looking to get a pat on the back or to feel better about myself for helping some poor, unfortunate souls- Jesus, I hate it when people do shit like that.

I just felt their kindness deserved a good turn is all.

"What's wrong, Vivien?" Marcel asks once the commotion kinda dies down. I guess my unease is showing on my face. "Don't like hugs from humans?"

I shake my head. "I love hugs," I reply truthfully. "I just- I didn't mean for it to be such a big deal, you know?"

He laughs, but then his face becomes more serious. "Baby girl, the world  _sucks_  most of the time, if you haven't noticed," he says. "Bad shit happens all the time. So you shouldn't ignore it when something good happens."

Marcel reaches out and takes my hand.

"When something- or  _someone-_  good happens, you gotta be thankful."

Well, shit. I guess I can't argue with that, can I?

* * *

August 21, 1974

I'm racing through a building over a month later when who should I run into but my favorite blue fuzzball himself.

I'm not exaggerating, either. I  _literally_  sprint full tilt into Hank as I'm trying to evade both some human guards  _and_  the X-Men at the same goddamn time.

And because he's fucking  _huge_  and I'm- well,  _not_  huge, I bounce off of him like a pinball and stumble backwards. Seriously, sometimes I'm so graceful I embarrass myself. The only reason I don't fall flat on my ass is because Hank quickly reaches out and grabs my hand, catching me mid-fall.

"Vivien?" he asks, all adorably puzzled. The bastard.

"Two guards with AK 47's on my tail," I explain shortly. Unfortunately with the close pursuit behind me I don't exactly have time to inform Hank that running into him was like hitting a brick wall. A  _sexy_  brick wall, but still. Ouch.

God bless the man, he doesn't even hesitate. Instead Hank immediately pulls me to my feet and slips a hand around my waist as he shepherds me into the office he'd just stepped out of when I smacked into him.

Just in time, too.

The two guards that were chasing me round the corner right after we move out of view, with Hank protectively covering my body with his against the wall out of sight from the door frame. The humans then run by us obliviously, huffing and puffing, in the direction of the exit.

"Thanks," I tell him once they're out of earshot.

"No problem," Hank replies, with a hint of a smile. He's still got his hands on my waist.

He's  _also_  still pressing me into the wall, but you definitely won't catch me complaining about that.

It feels  _so_  damn good to be this close to Hank again.  _Too_  good, to be honest. I find myself wanting to melt into him, to pull his lips down to mine so I can check to see if my memory has just been screwing with me, or does it really feel as fucking incredible as I remember to kiss this man?

We've stayed pretty far away from each other over the past couple months so we don't have to fight- or at least pretend to fight, anyway. A smile here, a whisper there... That's all the contact we've really had.

You'd think I'd be able to stop thinking about Hank after all this time, but nope. I can't get those sunset eyes out of my head, no matter how hard I try.

It really,  _really_  sucks.

And now here we are.

"H-how have you been, Vivien?" Hank asks. Not how normal people ask it out of politeness, either, but like he actually cares about the answer.

It's definitely a loaded question.

For a moment there I'm tempted to tell him about my new human friends in Hell's Kitchen, to see what he would say about that.

Just yesterday I brought my dad's guitar with me when I went to visit all of them and Mr. Cole and I took it in turns to play for everyone. He was almost crying at first, and when I asked him why he told me he hadn't been able to play in almost twenty years because of how he lost his sight during the war in Korea and everything. And then Betty even asked me to hold baby Johnny and sing him to sleep, which I had no problems with at all. I happen to love babies.

I mean really, the only sad thing about holding Johnny was that it made me wonder if with all the Brotherhood craziness I'll ever be able to settle down with someone and have a baby of my own. It's not something I can ever really see happening at this point, and that's a depressing thought for me.

And speaking of Brotherhood craziness, I'm really starting to think that Hank was right about them and the whole mutant superiority thing. It's just little things popping up now and then, things I'm noticing now that I'm actually looking for them. That really scares me.

So how do I even respond to Hank's question?

I don't want to seem like I'm bragging if I mention my new friends, and that- along with all of this new superiority bullshit- will probably just make him say  _again_  that I don't belong with the Brotherhood and their supposed human-hating ways.

Blah blah blah.

I mean, all the other crap aside, it's still not like I can just walk away from my brothers, you know? It's better to just not to go there with Hank.

So instead of answering truthfully I just grin and say, "oh, you know me. Getting into trouble like always. How about you?"

Hank's disapproving frown at my reply is so fucking adorable I can't help laughing at him.

For a moment there he looks like he wants to hold onto his grumpiness, but then the expression melts away and a reluctant grin takes its place instead.

Shit. Cue instant butterflies.

And then I hear James calling for me from the direction of the exit.

"Vixen! Vixen, dammit, where are you?"

Hank stiffens and steps away from me, his cheeks staining purple as he does- like he just now noticed how close we were standing to each other.

"I think that's my cue," I mutter, smiling bitterly. Because the last thing I want to see right now is my brother fighting with my- my-

My  _Hank,_  I guess.

He's my friend, sure, but then also  _more_  than a friend. But at the same time not really, because we're on different teams...

Fuck, this has gotten complicated.

"Take care of yourself, Hank," I whisper.

And because I really can't help myself, I stand on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

Hank looks like he wants to protest my going for a moment, but he swallows it down and nods sadly. "You too, Vivien," he murmurs. The expression on his face kills me a little on the inside.

Once again Hank doesn't want to let me go, and I don't really want to leave.

Dammit.

_Prodigious birth of love it is to me/ That I must love a loathed enemy,_  I think to myself bitterly as I run to join my brother.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?


	25. "Superior"

**"Superior"**

August 26, 1974

_Well this... this is disappointing. Why do these things have to cost so goddamn much?_

I'm at a music store in the City looking at guitars. I really want to buy one for Mr. Cole, but I'm getting a big fat case of sticker shock right now.

My funds are kinda limited at this point because I've been buying so much food for everyone in Hell's Kitchen. So as much as I want to give Mr. Cole a guitar, I don't think I can really justify spending that much money on this one thing. I obviously appreciate music and everything, but feeding everybody kinda trumps that, don't you think?

I sigh in defeat.

I guess this is one thing I just can't help my friend with, any more than I can give him his sight back.

_Unless..._

"Can I help you with something?"

I glance over my shoulder to see a guy with bad skin behind me. He has an overly-helpful expression on his face. "Fred," his name tag says. I'm guessing he works here.

"No, not today, thanks," I reply politely.

I turn back around, but he doesn't leave. "So... do you play?" he asks eagerly, moving to stand by my side. I automatically reach up and adjust my hat to make sure my ears aren't showing. "Or are you looking to learn? We offer lessons, you know."

"That's cool, but I already know how."

"Oh yeah? How long have you been playing for?"

I shrug. "I can't even remember learning," I admit.

"Who taught you?"

It's difficult to hold back the growl of irritation I want to make. Why is this guy being so goddamn nosy? Or is this just polite conversation and I'm such a closed-off loner I can't even tell the difference? Dammit, I  _hate_  talking to people I don't know.

"My father did," I reply hesitantly. "Do- do you play?"

_There. Look at me trying to make small talk with a stranger. Vivien gets a gold star for the day._

"Sure do," Fred says, offering a hand to shake. "I'm Fred, by the way."

I don't take it- I'm afraid my claws would be too noticeable if I did. But I try to give him a bright, closed-lip smile to soften that awkward moment. "Nice to meet you. I'm Vivien."

"Well, Viv- can I call you Viv?" he asks. I open my mouth to reply, but he keeps talking without pause. "Are you thinking about buying today?"

"It's Viv _ien_ , actually," I tell him stiffly. "And like I said, not today."

"You sure?"

"Very," I reply.

"Well... feel free to take one down and play if you want to, anyway," Fred offers eagerly. "And since you're not buying today, come back any time, Viv."

"Vivien."

"Right."

"I may have to take you up on that offer, though, Fred," I tell him. "Thank you."

Because I have an idea on how to get Mr. Cole a guitar.

The question is, can I make that sacrifice?

* * *

August 27, 1974

"Hello, Mr. Cole," I say brightly the next day. "I brought you something."

"Oh, ya did?"

I kneel down next to the old man and put his hand on my dad's guitar case as I settle it in his lap. I wait until his fingers have started sliding along the beaten-up leather, exploring the shape enough to recognize it before I ask, "what do you think?"

"Vivien, ya said this was your daddy's," Mr. Cole notes seriously.

It's actually more than that. This is the  _one_  material thing I have left of my parents- everything else was lost in the fire that killed them. Once this guitar is gone I'll really only have my memories of Mom and Dad, and nothing else.

"Yeah," I agree, somehow managing to keep my voice even. "But I want you to have it now."

Believe me, deciding to give up my dad's guitar wasn't an easy choice.

But I also know it's the right one. Mr. Cole has nothing to his name except for the clothes on his back, on top of being blind. I saw how much playing affected him when I let him borrow my guitar last week. As much as it hurts to part with it- and trust me, it  _really_  fucking hurts- I know that Mr. Cole needs this more than I do.

"I can't-" he begins to object.

"Sure you can," I interject sternly. "Mr. Cole, you told me you haven't been able to play in twenty years. We both know that a soul without music starts going dark. That's why you need this more than I do."

"But-"

"Mr. Cole."

"But Vivien-"

"You're going to hurt my feelings if you keep protesting," I warn.

This makes him chuckle. "Stubborn little thing, ain't ya?"

I pretend to scoff. "Who says I'm 'little,' Mr. Cole?" I demand, but I'm only kidding. I can smell that he's weakening.

And besides, he's not wrong.

"No one did," he replies. "I can just tell. Most of the time I can't even hear ya move, ya know."

I laugh. "That's part of my mutation, actually. I'm light on my feet," I explain. "But we're getting off topic anyway. You're going to take this guitar, Mr. Cole, and you're going to play to your heart's content and- and take  _really_  good care of it for me. Understood?"

Mr. Cole clutches the instrument in his lap, his expression clearly torn. "Fine," he huffs, finally relenting. "But only because you're twisting my arm about it. I'll keep it safe for ya, I promise."

"Good," I say.

"Thank ya, Vivien," he murmurs. His voice is kinda choked up. "Truly- thank ya."

I lean down and kiss him on his whiskery cheek. "You're welcome, Mr. Cole," I tell him.

And then I get the hell out of there before I cry, too.

* * *

October 8, 1974

A couple months later Magneto gives me orders to go steal some government files.

"I'll leave it up to your discretion as to whether you want someone to come with you," he concludes in this really stiff, wary tone that kinda makes me wonder if he's given up on telling me what to do without expecting me to question it.

Hey, I  _warned_  him, didn't I? It's not like I ever pretended to be a good little soldier or anything, you know?

Just to fuck with him- seriously, the surprise on his face is priceless- I simply nod in agreement and don't argue. "Alright," I tell him calmly. "I'll head out tonight."

I originally plan on going in alone, but that changes pretty damn quick when I stumble in on a conversation that causes me a little- ok,  _a lot_ \- of unease on my way out.

You know what they say about eavesdroppers, right? That they never hear good things about themselves?

I think that's horseshit. Eavesdroppers never hear good things  _period._

"Humans are so weak," I hear Mastermind say dismissively. That's really rich, coming from him. I mean, the little weasel flinches every time I make a sudden move around him now. "We're clearly a superior species."

There's that word I've been dreading, ever since Hank warned me at Alkali Lake.  _Superior._

So it sounds like Mastermind, at least, really does believe in that bullshit. Of all the Brotherhood I guess I'm not  _too_  surprised on that one. Weak people need to feel better about themselves somehow, right? And putting other people down is an easy way of doing that.

But who's he talking to? And do they agree with him?

"Yeah," a voice replies uncertainly. "Yeah, we are."

It's Myles.

My crazy little brother, who's too fucking whacked out half the time to even  _know_  better than to agree with Mastermind's crap. I mean, why else would he go along with it? He's young and impressionable, and Mastermind is taking advantage of that to twist his thinking. It's not because Myles could _really_ think like that, right?

I step into view, ready to put the brakes on this mind fuck  _right now_.

Both of them startle- but while Mastermind looks guilty when he sees me glaring at him, Myles' expression is more...  _thoughtful._

Uh oh.

"Hey Myles," I say cheerfully. "Wanna come on a mission with me?"

"Yeah, of course."

He eagerly scrambles to his feet without missing a beat or even asking a question, and that melts my heart just a little bit. For a second there I can pretend that Myles is just my baby brother, dying to go on some new adventure with me.

Like old times.

I manage to fake a smile for him. "Go get ready then," I tell him. "Meet me at the garage."

"Ok," he agrees happily. He immediately heads for his room to change into his uniform.

Leaving me alone with Mastermind. The fucker who's trying to poison my brother's mind.

I bare my fangs at him. "I'm watching you, asshole," I hiss.

" _I'm_  not the one that needs to be watched," he replies arrogantly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

Mastermind just shrugs and gives me this imperious, shit-eating grin that seriously makes me want to claw the expression right off his fucking face.

Just so he doesn't forget who he's messing with I make a stutter step towards him, causing him flinch back in fear. "Fucking chicken shit," I mutter as I turn to leave.

I can't help feeling a prickle of anxiety about what Mastermind said as I go down to the garage. Who needs to be watched?  _Me?_  Why would anyone need to watch me? Is it because I don't follow orders all that well? And what kind of other bullshit has Mastermind been feeding Myles?

At least right now with this mission I have a perfect opportunity to ply answers out of my brother. I've just gotta approach it delicately is all. But let's face it, delicacy isn't something I'm good at.

I don't have a chance to bring the conversation around that way at first because Myles is being such a chatterbox about other things and I can't get a word in edgewise.

Almost like... is he doing it on purpose to avoid questioning? Or am I  _seriously_  getting too paranoid?

_He's your brother,_  I scold myself.  _Get real. Just be happy he's acting more like his old self._

And I  _am_  happy about that, I really am. Myles has actually cut back on the trips to Crazytown over the past few months.

It gives me hope that one day he'll be- well, not  _normal_ again, because that's expecting too much in even a best case scenario- but...  _better._ That maybe someday he won't need me so damn much, and I'll be able to go off and live my own life.

Am I a bad person for wanting that? Probably.

But that doesn't make it any less true.

I finally get an "in" on the conversation once we've actually arrived at the facility we're breaking into.

"Alright," I murmur. We're several hundred yards back from the entrance. "Let's go take a look, see what we can do."

"You'll get us in, Sissy," Myles says confidently. "Humans haven't been able to come up with anything you can't break into."

_Humans_  haven't been able-? What the fuck?

Yeah, I get that that was supposed to be a compliment to me, but I know a racist jab when I hear one.

See, that's the scary thing about prejudice- sometimes it's so subtle that it's hard to notice. And if no one notices it, no one calls you out for it. That just reinforces in your own head that what you're thinking is right.

And around and around that racist hamster wheel goes.

"How do you know a mutant didn't design this place, Myles?" I ask, keeping my voice light. "Or any of the other places I've broken into?"

He gives me a disparaging look. "That would mean mutants work for government."

"Plenty of mutants work for the government," I retort.

Hank, for one, mentioned in passing while we were at Alkali Lake that he worked for the CIA for a while. When he was like, seventeen. That man is  _so_  damn smart, and yet-

_And you're doing it again, Babineaux. Your brain is supposed to be a no-Hank-zone, remember?_

Damn.

"They just have to hide it most of the time."

Myles frowns. "But they shouldn't have to."

"No, they shouldn't," I agree. "But that's what we're fighting for, isn't it?"

He nods thoughtfully.

_God, please let me get through to him._  Please.


	26. Family Ties

**Family Ties**

"Come on," I say. "Let's go in."

We scope out the place within minutes. After that it's easy to use the fire escape to climb up to the roof access door, where I then break the code to get us inside.

Myles is kinda over-dramatic about the whole thing, like we're a pair of secret agents or something. It's hard not to laugh at the way he keeps pointedly looking around and doing unneeded somersaults as we move through the halls.

Super stealthy, little bro.

For all the evasive maneuvers Myles still kinda sucks at avoiding the security cameras. And all the unnecessary dodges are pretty damn noisy to boot- at least to me, anyway, because I'm used to moving in silence.

But still, I don't complain.

I mean, it's better to have my brother here, with me, than listening to more of Mastermind's lies, right-?

And then I catch a scent in the air, so faint it's almost unnoticeable. Honestly, if that smell wasn't imprinted so vividly in my memory I probably wouldn't have sensed it.

It's Hank.

Because of course it is.

Jesus Christ, he's making a habit of popping up at  _the_  worst times lately.

The fact that I can still smell him means he's been through here very recently. On his way in or out, I can't be sure- but let's be honest, with my fucking luck he's probably still around.

_I need to distract Myles._

Not to protect my brother, or my- well, whatever the hell Hank is to me- because I'd bet money that Hank is too kind to hurt Myles much, and Myles isn't strong enough to be much of a threat to Hank.

It's to protect  _myself._

Because I don't think I could stand seeing them fight each other, I really don't. I don't want  _either_  of them to get hurt in front of me, and who would I even help in that situation? I honestly don't know.

"Myles, what do you think we're getting these files for?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual. If I can keep Myles talking I think I can stop him from noticing Hank's scent.

"Because Magneto asked us to," my brother replies.

I roll my eyes. That sort of unquestioning faith is something I know I'll never have. "Yeah, but  _why_?"

He shrugs. "To protect us from the humans somehow."

I snort dismissively. "Sometimes I think the humans need protection from  _us_ ," I mutter.

To my surprise Myles laughs- he really seems to like that idea for some reason. "There's nothing wrong with that," he says brightly. "They should be  _afraid_  of us, you know? We're so much stronger than they are. Really, mutants are better than humans in every way."

My heart sinks lower and lower while he speaks. God, this is even worse than I thought.

"What makes you say that?" I ask through my teeth.

"Well think about it," Myles tell me, his voice taking on this strange tone. It's hard to explain but... on the  _surface_  he sounds reasonable, but it's almost like I can  _feel_  the crazy bubbling underneath the bullshit. "Humans are constantly hurting each other, all over the world. They hate anyone who looks or thinks differently from them. They destroy everything they touch, from the environment to each other. I think the world would be a lot better off without them, because really, humans are a worthless species."

"Who told you that?" I demand sharply.

Like I don't already know.

I mean, there's  _no way_  Myles can actually think like this. Jesus, not my own flesh and blood.  _Mastermind_  put this shit in his head, there's no doubt about it.

"It's just what I think," Myles replies stiffly. But then after a second he admits, "Mastermind."

"Well he's wrong. Humans aren't worthless. Don't you remember Dad?" God, I'm practically _pleading_ here. "Dad was human."

"So were the bastards who killed him and Mommy," my brother retorts.

I sigh. "You can't blame an entire race for what a few ignorant rednecks did, Myles," I tell him seriously.

The crazy look in his eyes gives me a split second warning that something's about to break off.

Aw shit, mentioning our parents was a big fucking mistake. But I was just trying to make Myles realize that not all humans-

"Yes, I can," Myles snarls. "How was it fair that Dad and Mommy got killed in that fire, huh? Just because me and Fox stole some chickens-?"

His voice is getting louder with every word.

"Those bastards deserved what Fox did to them, Vixen. God, it was beautiful. All that blood on the walls was like the most beautiful painting I've ever seen. So  _red-"_

Ok,  _really_  fucking creeped out right now.

Part of me is so repulsed I want to run away from him. The horrible fascination, that awful, batshit glint in his eyes makes my hair stand on end.

But another piece of me has to excuse it. He's my  _brother,_  and he's so broken he can't know any better, right? And I'm the only one who can really pull him back from the edge anymore.

I step closer and wrap my arms around him, pinning his own limbs to his sides.

"Shh," I murmur soothingly. "Shh."

I start to sing a soft lullaby, and like magic Myles calms down almost immediately.

Thank God I haven't lost my touch, I guess.

"How about you go wait for me where we came in, ok?" I ask gently after a few minutes.

Because I don't know if I have the emotional energy to hold it together in front of him right now. I just want to get these stupid files and get the fuck out of here at this point, and Myles is more hindrance than help.

"I'll be quick," I promise.

"Ok."

I barely manage to wait for him to be out of sight before I slump over and let out the half-choked sob that's been trying to escape. Just one little moment of weakness that I know I can't really afford.

_Come on, Babineaux. Pull it together-_

"Vivien," a quiet voice calls out from nearby.

Oh shit, it's Hank.

I immediately stand up straighter and give him a smile, trying to play it casual. "Hank, you're still here," I say warmly. "Let me guess- I  _'cannot pass_?'"

His expression becomes thoughtful. "That's the second time you've said that to me, but I can't place it for some reason," he muses.

"Gandalf to the Balrog in the Mines of Moria,  _The Lord of the Rings_ ," I tell him. I shake my head in disappointment. "And you call yourself a nerd."

Hank grins, and my stomach does this almost painful somersault in response. "I'm accordingly ashamed of myself," he says.

I try to smile back, trying to hide what a pathetic mess I am on the inside. I think I'm doing pretty well, all things considering.

"Are you ok?" Hank asks gently.

Or not.

I frown. "Of course," I reply. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I heard you talking to your brother."

Oh great, here we go.

Time for Hank to start badgering me about the Brotherhood and all of their shit, and I'm  _seriously_  not in the mood for a fucking lecture right now.

So yeah, my response is a little defensive. "You were eavesdropping?" I snap.

"Technically I was here first, and then you two came along and blocked my exit so I couldn't leave," he retorts. "Did you expect me to cover my ears and whistle?"

I want to be mad at him, but I know I don't have the right.

It's not his fault everything's falling to pieces around me. That at least some of my teammates believe we're fighting for a cause I could never accept, and they're turning my little brother to their side.

I can't keep doing this, but I can't leave my brothers either. They're my  _family,_ for fuck's sake.

So what do I do?

God, I feel lost. And confused-

And alone.

I guess my expression gives me away because Hank sorta reaches out, like he wants to comfort me somehow but isn't really sure if he should try.

So I basically throw myself into his arms.

_Way to show what a strong, independent woman you are, Babineaux. Christ, how embarrassing._

"Sorry," I mutter.

"Don't be," Hank murmurs soothingly. He holds me closer and brushes his claws through my hair and God, it feels so  _right_  to let him be here for me like this, it really does. "W-what are friends for?"

The way he hesitates uncertainly on the word makes me hug him even tighter.

_Friends,_  right. Just friends.

If we're "just friends" I want to know why he's kissing my hair right now. Just the touch of his lips makes it feel like there's a current running through me, down to my toes.

I honestly expected Hank to say "I told you so," about the whole Brotherhood thing, and the fact that he's not and is just trying to comfort me really makes me almost want to cry.

To let myself be weak for  _one_  goddamn second, because it feels like everything's falling apart right now.

Are my brothers slipping away from me? Is there anything I can do to fix this-?

Just then I hear the squeak of a boot on the tile floor.

_Shit. Someone's coming._

I spring away from Hank right before Myles rounds the corner and sees us together. I think he smelled Hank once I wasn't there to distract him anymore and came back to find him.

Myles lets out a roar of fury at the sight of another feral male and runs straight at Hank.

So I do the only thing I can think of to stop the fight I know is coming.

I stomp on Hank's hand-foot and swing around to throw an elbow right into his face, like we've been fighting all along. In response he immediately backs away from me, snarling in pain- I'm pretty sure I just broke his nose.

_Ooph. Sorry, baby. I had to._

With Hank momentarily out of it I manage to run and intercept Myles before he gets any closer. "Come on," I tell him, even as he strains against me. "We'll try again another day."

My brother stops fighting me, thank the Lord, meaning that I can steer him away-

Leaving my poor Hank alone with a bloody nose.

Poor repayment for the comfort he gave me, isn't it?

God, I suck.

* * *

October 15, 1974

I close my eyes, concentrating hard on using my other senses. Sight is pretty useless when you're fighting someone who moves faster than you can see, don't you think?

The air stirs close to my face-

I dodge the blow that I can feel coming and grab onto the wrist of Peter's still-extended arm, dropping him out of hyperspeed or whatever.

I can't help laughing at the surprised look on his face- I'm pretty sure not many people have ever been able to avoid a hit from him.

We've been sparring a lot lately, though, and I've figured out how to sense Peter's movements. He's so quick that he causes pretty strong air disturbances for a guy of his size, and they actually push  _ahead_  of him. You can pick up on it if you know what to feel for.

"Nice," Peter says admiringly. "How'd you do that?"

I scoff. "I'm not telling you!"

He tries to break free, but I hold on tight. I lift my leg up and wrap it around his neck, using my sideways momentum to force him to the ground. I manage to land on top of Peter, but before I can finish pinning him he flips us over in one of those blindingly fast movements of his, so now  _he's_  on top of  _me._

Peter grins when I glower up at him.

Maybe it's my imagination, but it seems like right then his gaze flicks down to my mouth, his face moving forward an inch or two closer to mine.

Almost like he might be about to-

Nah, no way. Not Peter.

I wrap both legs around his torso and bring the heels of my feet down on his back, getting him right in the kidneys.

"Ow!" Peter groans, flopping over to lay at my side. Very graceful.

I sit up. "I win," I announce proudly.

His only reply is to groan some more.

"Aw. Poor Peter," I say, patting him on the head.

That finally makes him chuckle a little as he sits up, too. "Come on, or we're going to be late for the meeting."

"Oh yay," I mutter.

Our weekly team meetings suck.

Especially lately, when there's so many sideways glances my way when we're all at the table. It makes me wonder if everyone's hiding something from me.

And that, of course, makes me wonder if I'm being super fucking paranoid.

"Vixie..."

"What?"

"Dagneto knows what he's doing," Peter says seriously. "We have to believe we're doing the right thing for mutants. Just trust him, ok?"

I snort and get to my feet. "Easy for you to say," I retort. "He's your dad."

"Yeah," my friend agrees. His expression turns a little pleading, like he's trying to get me to understand something important. "He's my dad. My  _family."_

I sigh in resignation. "And if you don't have family, what do you have?" I mutter.

"Exactly."


	27. The New Recruit

**The New Recruit**

October 18, 1974

Something's off about tonight, I can feel it.

The best way I can explain my suspicion is that there's something about the way my brothers and the twins have been avoiding me throughout the evening that just sets off alarm bells in the back of my head.

Add in the fact that Magneto and Mastermind are conspicuously absent right now, and I've gotta agree with my instincts on this one. My best guess is that something's going on that the rest of them don't want me to know about.

That suspicion is confirmed when I ask Peter if he wants to go to the movies, just to see what he'll say.

"Aw man, Vixie," he says, his expression clearly frustrated. "I can't tonight. I promised Dadneto I- I'd go over some paperwork for him."

Yeah fucking right.

For one thing, Peter  _never_  looks at paperwork- the boy can't sit still long enough, for Christ's sake. And then there's the fact that he's not looking me in the eye as he speaks. Dead giveaway, right there.

"Oh, ok," I murmur, and I don't bother to hide my disappointment. I  _really_  wanted Peter to prove me wrong, but nope. "I'll just go read in my room then."

To my surprise he grabs my hand as I turn to go. "What about tomorrow?" he asks, his eyes pleading.

I shrug apathetically. "Maybe."

As I walk away I could swear I hear Peter cursing to himself under his breath. No idea what's going on there.

But the reason for his outburst isn't exactly high on my radar at the moment. I've got bigger problems to worry about.

Instead of heading to my bedroom I make a beeline for the control room and settle down to keep an eye on things.

When my brothers and I first moved in here Magneto asked me to use my computer skills to set up a surveillance system- for security reasons, he said, just in case of intruders. So I went through and set up a bunch of cameras around the base and wired all of the feeds to come back to monitors in this room. Because of that I know every corner of this building, every angle these cameras cover.

Do I feel bad about spying like this? Yeah, a little. But not that much.

Not with everyone hiding something from me. After all, I can play this game too.

I don't even have to wait long to figure it out, either.

James, Peter, Magneto and Mastermind come into view on the cameras about twenty minutes after I start my watch.

And they're not alone.

There's a guy between Peter and my brother, stumbling along as they fight to keep him upright. It looks like he might even be struggling to get away.

A prisoner? Since when do we take prisoners?

All of them disappear from sight into a room down the hall. The door is actually out of view of the camera's scope, but it's at the end of a dead-end hallway and there's no other place they could go.

After a few minutes James and Peter- who actually looks pretty uncomfortable- come back out and leave the area. Leaving Magneto and Mastermind alone with that guy.

What are they doing to him? Why did they bring him here? Who is he?

And why the fuck is everyone hiding this from me?

This isn't good. This isn't good at all.

There's an unsettled feeling in my stomach, like the waffles I ate for dinner are thinking about making a reappearance. I'm so uncomfortable I take to pacing the room as an outlet for the antsy feeling I have.

Magneto and Mastermind finally emerge from the room almost two hours later, without the new guy. Magneto's expression is pretty grim (but what else is new?), while his creep-tastic buddy looks like he just ran a marathon. I track them both to the other side of the base, where the bedrooms are.

_Ok, Babineaux. Now's your chance._

I mean, I can't  _ignore_  what I just saw, right?

It's obvious something's up, and I need to get to the bottom of it.

Good thing I've prepared for shit like this by building a couple of fail-safes into the system when I set it up, just in case. Now my previous paranoia just looks like good planning. Yay, me.

I pop open one of the servers and fiddle with the wiring so the system starts compiling. Until I fix them the cameras are now going to freeze up for twelve seconds once a minute. That's enough time for me to maneuver without being seen if someone comes back to view the footage later.

By watching the red recording lights go on and off I'm able to move around the base without being caught on camera once. I time it just right so I can sprint out of view while they're not recording, using the blind spots to my advantage. That'll save me editing time later.

Finally I make it to my destination. Taking a deep breath, I crack the door and take a peek inside.

Oh God.

The guy I saw earlier is huddled in the corner of the room, shaking violently. Like he's scared out of his mind- I can only assume that Mastermind had something to do with that. The poor thing also has a big gash on his head that's slowly oozing blood.

"Hey," I say quietly, coming fully inside.

He startles, flinching back as far as he can. He's got quills instead of hair on his head, and his big warm brown eyes are the same color as his skin. They'd be really pretty if he wasn't so obviously terrified.

"W-who are you?" he asks in a trembling voice.

"I'm Vivien," I reply gently, kneeling next to him. "I live here."

"You come to mess with my head, too?"

I wince- it's just as I thought. Mastermind, that sick fuck, has been screwing with this guy. "No," I assure him. I hold out my hand hopefully. "I want to help you, if I can. What's your name?"

For a second I think he's not going to trust me, but I guess something in my expression makes him give in. He takes my offered hand and doesn't let go, clutching it like a lifeline. "I'm Evan, but a lot of people call me Spyke," he explains.

"I can see why," I say, gesturing towards his head with my free hand. "Want to tell me what happened to you, Evan?"

And he does.

Evan tells me that he was stopped by some cops in the City last night. He tried to get away when they started roughing him up for being a mutant, so they arrested him and put him in jail.

But then Magneto came and ripped away the entire wall of his cell.

"He told me to come with him, so I did," Evan says. "He brought me here. On the way he started talking about how humans are a lesser species, how they should be scared of us, and asked if I wanted to join his Brotherhood."

Well damn. The recruitment speech has  _definitely_  changed since I joined up.

It's my worst fear realized, and all I can do is sit here like an idiot and listen to more.

"I told him maybe humans are scared of us because mutants do shit like that," Evan continues. "Talking about the wall and breaking me out, you know? He didn't like that one bit. When we got here he had a couple other guys bring me to this room, and then he told this older guy who was with him to 'take care of me.' That guy-"

He shivers.

"He put things in my head. He made it feel like the cops were beating me again. It was- it felt so  _real,"_ he whispers, squeezing my hand. "But I guess eventually he got tired of using his power so much, because they left me alone. And now you're here."

Jesus. It sounds like Magneto wants to actually brain-wash this guy into joining us. But why?

"What's your power, Evan?" I ask.

"I can make people sick and shoot quills from my body."

Cool powers to have, yeah, but that doesn't really explain why Magneto's so hot to get Evan on our side. There's something more at work here, and I'll need to dig into that eventually.

But first things first.

"Come on, Evan," I mutter, rising to my feet. I pull him with me. "I'm getting you out of here."

"You are?"

"Yup," I reply. No fucking way am I letting them do this. Especially to an innocent man. "So I need you to do exactly as I say, you got it?"

He nods earnestly and follows me to the door.

I peek my head out first to make sure the coast is clear. No one in sight, thank God, so we step out of the room.

"Alright, Evan," I tell him, eyeing the blinking red light on the closest camera. "When I say 'go,' you're going to run as fast as you can down this hallway. Ready-?"

The light goes off.

"Go!"

Evan obediently follows me as I sneak him out of the building. From there I lead him to the nearest road on foot, because I know taking one of the cars from the garage would be way too noticeable. Instead I bring him to the spare Honda I keep stashed a few miles away.

"Did you plan this out beforehand?" Evan asks, his expression awed. I guess he's surprised I was so prepared.

"Huh? No way," I reply, chuckling nervously. "Experience has taught me it's better to always be ready for shit to go sideways. You complaining?"

He shakes his head quickly. "No."

"Good. Now, where do you want to go?"

"I-I don't really have any place to go," he admits quietly.

Well, shit.

It's not like I can dump Evan off in the City or something, or else he'll be at risk of getting caught by the cops again. Now that he's a fugitive for breaking out it would be even worse than before for him.

I need to take him somewhere safe. Somewhere like...

"I know a place."

* * *

I've never been to Xavier's before, but I know where it is.

Magneto made a big deal about telling all of us that we're not allowed to set foot there. I used to think it was a respect thing between him and Professor X to protect the kids but now... now I'm starting to wonder if it's because Magneto doesn't want that goody two-shoes shit rubbing off on his Brotherhood.

"Here we go," I announce, shifting the car into park several yards back from the front gate. "This is it."

Evan starts to get out of the car, but pauses when he sees me not moving. "You coming?"

I let myself picture that for just a second. Could I do that? Just walk up and ask for sanctuary here?

The rest of the X-Men would probably tell me to fuck off if I just dropped in, but I'd like to think Hank would try to stick up for me with the rest of them.

I can imagine how happy he'd be if I finally took him up on his invitation to leave the Brotherhood. Me and him, we could explore this connection between us, the feelings that I don't think either of us have been able to shake...

But that's a fool's fantasy, and I know it.

For one, I highly doubt the X-Men would just be cool with me making myself at home here. I can't see them ever trusting me- and let's face it, I don't think I could trust  _them,_  either. Team player, I am not.

And then there's the whole issue of my brothers- I can't just  _leave_  them in Magneto's clutches and allow him to twist their thoughts beyond repair. They're my family. I  _have_  to try to save James and Myles, even if it's from themselves.

Staying here just isn't an option, period.

I shake my head. "I can't," I finally say. "But I need you to do me a favor, Evan."

"Anything," he replies promptly.

"Don't tell anyone I helped you," I tell him seriously. "Make them think you got out on your own."

"But- but why?"

"Because I don't want them thinking you're a spy, and they probably won't believe I got you out without having some ulterior motive in mind," I explain. "And besides- if word got back to Magneto somehow that I helped you, I'm  _so_  fucking dead. So let's just keep it between you and me, ok?"

There's another reason, but I can't tell Evan this one.

I have a feeling if Hank found out about this he'd expect me to leave the Brotherhood after having solid proof of all of their lies. And since I  _can't..._  I don't want to hurt him anymore than I already have. In this situation, at least, ignorance is bliss.

Evan nods, though he looks reluctant. "Vivien, if you weren't trying to get out too...  _why_  did you help me?" he asks hesitantly.

I shrug. "It was the right thing to do," I explain. I lean over and kiss his cheek. "Good luck, Evan."

"You too, Vivien," he replies. "And- thank you."


	28. On the Warpath

  **On the Warpath**

October 19, 1974

I walk around the next morning half-expecting the sky to fall down on my head.

It doesn't matter that I was able to sneak back in and fix the camera system without getting pinched- I even planted footage in the right places to make it seem like I spent all evening in my room to cover my ass. My own sense of self-preservation is still telling me I might've pushed the envelope too far this time around.

Best to just keep my head down and pretend everything is normal, right?

I focus on doing just that, going about my morning like nothing's different about today. I'm sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of oatmeal when Peter comes in looking a little frazzled.

"Better watch out today," he mutters. "Dadneto's on the warpath."

I frown curiously. "Why this time?" I ask. Like I don't damn well know.

Peter grimaces and looks away instead of answering immediately. So I know he feels at least a  _little_  guilty about what happened last night.

I'm half-tempted to scream at him and ask him what the fuck he's thinking, going along with this stuff. But I think I know the reason. The reason controls metal and is occasionally homicidal.

After going seventeen years without knowing his father, I'm starting to realize that Peter will do practically anything to get the guy's approval. I mean, I get that desire to be close to the dad he never had and everything. But it's still frustrating, because I know he's a lot better than this.

"Oh, you know," he replies lamely. "It's always something with him. But just be warned-"

And then Magneto comes in, dead eyes flashing with rage. "On the warpath" is a pretty damn fitting description, actually.

Oh boy.

"Vixen, I need you to come with me immediately," he says shortly. It's pretty obvious arguments won't be tolerated today.

"Uh, sure," I reply, pretending to be confused. But really in my head I'm saying to myself,  _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_. "What's up?"

"It appears that we've had a security breach," Magneto explains, and it feels like his eyes are trying to bore a hole through mine. God, does he suspect it was me?

I let my eyes get wide. "What?"

"Yes," he replies briskly. "So come with me to the control room right now."

"Come on, Dad," Peter interjects. "At least let her finish eating-"

His father gives him a quelling look.

"No, that's ok," I say, standing up. "I'm done anyway."

It's honestly like I'm being put on trial. That's the only way I can describe the way it feels to have Magneto practically march me to the control room, with Peter trailing along behind us helplessly.

When I glance over my shoulder at him the silver-haired boy gives me an apologetic, worried look.

Fucking fantastic.

"I need the footage from last night," Magneto orders. He gives Peter a rather angry glance, like he doesn't want him in here, but the younger man pretends to ignore it. Nice to know he hasn't abandoned me, I guess.

"Starting at what time?" I ask.

"About seven," he says.

_Just keep calm, Babineaux,_  I tell myself.  _You covered yourself well._

I sync up the footage and press play.

There's me, headed towards my bedroom. Wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday, the same hairstyle. Correct time stamp and everything. They don't need to know that it's actually footage from last week, right?

_God, somebody give me an Oscar for best editing. I deserve one._

Though on second thought I think I'll just settle for not dying right now.

"Fast forward," Magneto snaps, his gaze darting across all the monitors.

I give him an annoyed look- I figure acting  _too_  innocent would be a dead giveaway, considering my normal attitude about taking orders- as I comply.

But on film I don't leave my room all night, and there's no sign of anyone coming to or from the hallway where they put Spyke either. For all they know the guy just vanished out of that room.

Behind me I can actually  _feel_  Peter relax.

"Do you want me to check another time?" I offer. "Another day?"

"No," Magneto replies through his teeth. He's still looking at me suspiciously, but what proof does he have? He's got jack shit and he knows it. "But I want you to add more cameras to the system."

"Uh, ok."

And then without so much as a "thank you" he stalks out, leaving me alone with Peter.

"What was that about?" I pretend to wonder aloud, frowning. "What kind of security breach was he talking about?"

Peter shrugs indifferently. He's obviously already over the whole incident now that I've proven my innocence.

Damn, it must be  _really_  nice to forget about things that upset you that easily.

"So- movie tonight?" he asks hopefully. "You and me?"

I can't say no- not after he so faithfully stuck by me just now, even though I know damn well that I didn't deserve it. I have a bad feeling Magneto would've killed me anyway, even without proof, if Peter hadn't been here as a witness.

"Sure," I reply, practically giddy with relief that I've still got a goddamn pulse. "Let's go see  _Texas Chainsaw Massacre._  But let's bring Wanda- you know how much she  _loves_  horror movies, right?"

It's probably a trick of the light, but it kinda looks like the smile on his face freezes for a second. "Yeah," Peter agrees. "Let's do it."

* * *

So here's how it stands:

I'm on a team that believes that mutants are somehow a better species compared to humans, instead of the equality that I want for all of us. They lied to me about it, and now they're starting to hide a lot of the more unscrupulous shit they're pulling to achieve their goals from me.

And I'm not going to leave.

I mean, I considered it- I'm not completely stupid, after all. I'm well aware that walking away would be a lot less hazardous to my health in the long run, for one thing. But that's only  _if_  I managed to escape in the first place- because let's face it, Magneto isn't exactly the kind of boss you hand a two-week's notice to.

But I know in my heart that staying is the right thing to do. If I'm still around I can stop some of the bad things the Brotherhood tries, like I did by freeing Evan. There are some actions I believe I can talk them out of, if given the chance. I have to have faith in the better nature of my teammates, faith that my brothers and the twins can change if they're shown a better way-

Aw, fuck me. I sound exactly like Hank now.

Oh God,  _Hank._

Hank, who opened my eyes about the Brotherhood and made me realize that we're fighting for the wrong reasons. I'm seriously attracted to him, both physically and mentally. No one has ever "gotten me" on so many levels before him, not even my own family.

And every time I see him it kills me a little more. Because doing the right thing- staying with the Brotherhood, trying to change them for the better, supporting Myles in his journey back towards some semblance of sanity...

Doing the right thing means he'll never be mine.

* * *

October 25, 1974

_Well this went to hell really fucking fast._

We're currently pinned down in an abandoned building by a SWAT team, and opportunities for escape are disappearing fast as the humans close in.

"You gotta hand it to these guys," I muse as I check our options. "Their technique is damn near perfect."

James gives me a disparaging look. "Not helpful, Vixen," he snaps. Turning to Wanda, he asks, "did you get a message out to Mags?"

Wanda nods, her expression tense. "He'll be here as soon as he can."

Yikes.

Magneto plus a bunch of guns will most likely end up equaling a pile of human Swiss cheese.

As if the situation weren't already desperate enough, suddenly a hailstorm of bullets starts raining down on us from pretty much every fucking crack in the walls. All of us duck behind whatever cover we can find.

"We might still be able to slip out through the crawl space," I yell over the racket.

It's pretty much an option of last resort, but I don't think the cops will think to cover it. And going for it is better than all of us sitting here waiting to get shot.

"It's worth a try," Peter calls back. "I'm moving out."

He grabs Wanda and disappears from sight, leaving the rest of us to momentarily fend for ourselves until he comes back to get us one at a time. Mastermind and James both start commando crawling forward so he won't have to travel as far for them.

Now let's be clear- I don't like getting shot at any more than the next person, but I know to keep my cool when it happens. Panicking is only going to get yourself killed. It's just better to take cover and wait for the situation to develop more in the hopes that an opportunity to get the fuck out of there pops up before you catch a bullet.

But of course it would be too much to ask for Myles to stay calm now, right?

The stress of the situation is too much for him, and he snaps right on cue. My brother starts to flail around in full spaz-mode, completely oblivious to the shots missing him by inches as he moves away from relative safety behind a barrel.

Shit.

I dart out from the upended metal table I'd been hiding behind to tackle Myles and get him out of immediate danger.

It's just my luck that a stray bullet ends up hitting my leg while I'm out from under cover.

Oh God dammit.

I hiss in pain as I go to the ground with Myles, pinning his wrists as he continues to thrash around behind cover. I'm not strong enough to hold him down for long, and Mastermind and James are too far away to help at this point. This isn't a situation where I can sing him back to sanity or anything, either, not with bullets coming down around us and the cops closing in and  _fuck,_  my leg hurts.

_Not much of a choice, then. Sorry, little bro._

I punch Myles in the temple to knock him out.

Just then Peter appears kneeling next to us, ready to carry me to safety in his speedy dimension or whatever.

"No. Get Jackal out of here," I tell the speedster.

He frowns. "You sure?"

"Yeah," I reply. "Go!"

Peter reluctantly scoops my brother up in a fireman's lift and takes off, disappearing from sight.

Since I know the barrel I'm behind isn't really good cover I quickly search for another option. There's a door right next to me- it's a janitor's closet.

_Finally_ , a lucky break.

I crack it open and slip inside.

_Phew, ok. Not getting shot at anymore is definitely a step in the right direction._

Ignoring the stink of dank mop water and mothballs (smells that, while gross, are still better than catching another bullet), I turn on the overhead light and gingerly roll up the pant leg of my jumpsuit.

The bullet is lodged in the calf of my right leg. I'm not bleeding all that heavily so I'm pretty sure nothing too vital got hit. I mean, that doesn't stop it from hurting like a sonuvabitch, but when you're hiding in a yucky closet with a gunshot wound it probably doesn't help much to dwell on negativity.

Removing the bullet and stopping the bleeding is probably my first priority now that I'm not getting shot at anymore. And oh boy, is that going to be fun.

Time to go fishing for a bullet.

_Alright, Babineaux. Don't puss out now. Here goes-_

To muffle any noise I might be about to make I bite down on the hood of my cloak and then dig straight into the bullet wound with my claws.

Not something I recommend, by the way.

_Ow. Fucking_  ow.

After a few seconds that feel like  _hours,_  I manage to grab the slug between my forefinger and my thumb and pull it out in one piece. Success!

Even though I know it's not really productive or anything I throw the damn thing against the wall just to show it who's boss. Take that, stupid piece of metal.

A first aid kit would be really handy right about now, but I don't have one. I'll have to make do with what I can find in here.

It's only when I start going through the shelves that I finally notice the distinct lack of shooting going on outside of my little hideaway. It's actually  _quiet,_  a fact that's just registering with me now that I'm not performing triage on myself.

What the hell is happening out there?

All sorts of scenarios flash through my head as I find a hand towel to use as a makeshift bandage. Magneto showing up and shooting everyone kinda has the main stage, though.

Jesus, what am I going to see when I get out of here? A massacre?

Then I hear movement outside the door, just a split second's warning before it opens. I grab a knife off my belt, ready to throw it at whoever just found me-

And it's Hank.


	29. Crushing It

**Crushing It**

I lower my knife when I see who it is. I'm guessing he sniffed me out and that's how he found me. "Hi, Hank," I say weakly.

_Well this is embarrassing. God, someone shoot me. But oh wait, they've already done that today._

That might be funny to me later, but not right now.

Hank, who actually looked pretty pissed off when the door opened, now softens just a bit. He sighs and steps inside, shutting the closet door behind him while pulling a little first aid kit off his belt.

Damn, where can I get myself one of those?

"Hi," he replies as he kneels down and immediately starts to help me, God bless him. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" I tease, pointing to my leg. I'm trying to keep it light, to ignore how it feels for Hank to touch me. It's truly amazing how gentle he is, even with the scary-looking claws. "Trying to patch myself up."

He looks me straight in the eyes. "That's not what I meant, Vivien."

What's that supposed to mean? Unless he's talking about me helping Evan in some roundabout way?

But how the  _hell_  would he even know about that?

"I know you helped Spyke escape," Hank explains stiffly, confirming my fears. "I thought you'd-"

Aw fuck.

Could the guy not keep his mouth shut or what? I saved his life and just asked for  _one_  thing in return, and this is the thanks I get? God dammit.

I'm too offended to even try to deny it. "Did he tell you that?" I snap.

"No," he replies, finishing up my bandage without even looking down. He's too busy watching  _me._  "He didn't have to. I knew he couldn't get out on his own, and you're the only Brotherhood member with a conscience."

Hey now, that's not really true. I think they  _all_  have consciences in some form or another- mine's just a lot less...  _flexible,_  I guess.

Well, shit. I wonder if that's why Magneto suspected me, too?

Looks like I need to be a lot more careful from now on.

I sigh and carefully pull my jumpsuit down into place and put my boot back on without looking Hank in the eye. "Thanks," I say, gesturing to my wound.

"Why didn't you want me to know, Vivien?" Hank demands quietly.

"I didn't want to give you hope that I had changed my mind," I admit.

"What?"

"Be honest, Hank," I say, smiling bitterly as I finally chance meeting his gaze. Crap, big mistake. "The moment you realized I helped Spyke get out, you were hoping that I would show up in Westchester."

He nods. "When you didn't I thought you'd left the Brotherhood and gone off on your own," he murmurs. "Or that Erik had caught you."

_Yeah, well, not for lack of trying on that last part._

I scoff. "Caught me? I've got more skills than that," I boast. "Give me some credit."

"So... why are you here with them then?" Hank asks slowly, like he's trying to solve a really tough math problem. "Why didn't you leave the Brotherhood? You saw how low Erik will stoop to get what he wants. You can't  _possibly_  still think-"

"Yes, you were right about him. Are you happy? You were right," I interject. "But let me ask you something, Hank. Would you rather fight a Brotherhood with me or without me in it?"

He just kinda stares at me.

Jesus, do I have to spell it out for him?

I sigh. "If I'm with them I can stop stuff like what almost happened to Spyke," I explain, "and maybe show these guys there's a better way."

Hank shakes his head. "You're wasting your time, Vivien. They-"

"I thought you said people can change?" I retort.

He winces, because he knows damn well that I'm right.

"Isn't that what you're hoping for so badly with me?" I continue. "You want me to leave the Brotherhood so badly, Hank. And I understand that that's part of who you are, what you believe. But why can't you accept that  _this_  is what I am? Am I really  _that_  bad?"

I wait for an answer, but he's completely silent. He won't even look me in the eye anymore.

Well that hurts.

I'm trying to do exactly what Hank claimed the X-Men are about, just for the Brotherhood, and he's acting like it's not  _good enough_. I mean, right now by not answering he's basically implying that I'm a shitty person. I get that he really wants me to leave the Brotherhood and everything, but that's no reason to be so judgmental, right?

Hank just doesn't understand that I  _see_  the bad things the Brotherhood does and feel the need to try to fix them from within. It doesn't  _have_  to be all black and white, X-Men versus Brotherhood. There's some shades of grey mixed in, and that's where I feel my place in this is. But for him, leaving the team is the only acceptable answer.

And he  _won't stop_  hoping that I'll come around.

The stubborn jerk.

So I guess there's only one thing for me to do. It's going to hurt like hell, but it's the only way I'll be able to spare him in the long run. To protect Hank, because I care for him that damn much. I'm sure that if we could just end this whole hopeless-pining thing between us and go back to how it was before we got to know each other at Alkali Lake he would eventually get over it. I know this hurts him, and I really don't want to do that to him anymore.

Even if it means hurting myself.

_Doing the right thing means he'll never be mine,_ I sadly remind myself.

I nod stiffly, trying to steel myself against the pain I know is coming.

When I start trying to regain my feet Hank stands and helps me up, leaving his hands on my waist. I reach up and put a hand on his cheek, trying to break it gently.

God, the way he leans into the touch kills me even more.

_You can do this, Babineaux. You're trying to save him, remember? No more wistful looks, no more stringing him along. It's better to just crush his hope right in the dirt. A clean break, that's what you both need._

"This is hopeless," I tell him. "I'm not going to leave the Brotherhood, and you're not going to stop wanting me to. This- whatever the hell this is, between us- is just hurting us both. I think it'd be better if- if we just stayed away from each other, ok?"

"Vivien-" he begins desperately.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "But please don't speak to me again."

I awkwardly stand on one tiptoe and kiss him for the last time.

And then I walk out.

Well ok, I'm more  _limping_  than walking, but you get my drift. The point is, I'm trying to put as much distance between me and Hank as possible.

From the lack of noise around me it seems like the fighting is truly over, thank God. Judging by Hank's presence I'm guessing the Professor came to smooth it all over- or at least something along those lines- before Magneto showed up and really made a mess of things.

Now all that's left to be done is  _leave._

Usually I'd have no problems jumping out of a window to get out of here, but with my gimpy leg I'm more likely to face-plant and break something important. I think one awful injury is enough for one day, don't you?

Instead I head for the stairs to the ground floor, reminding myself to never let myself get shot again as I hop awkwardly from step to step.

And that's when an explosion rocks the entire building. Like, I actually feel the damn thing shift on its foundations.

Holy shit.  _Definitely_  time to get the hell out of here.

At this point I'm committed to going down, so I try to hobble along faster. Really though, there's only so much I can do.

"Peter-?" I call out desperately. I can hear the building shaking as the supports start to give out. "Peter!"

I'm at the bottom of the stairwell now. I can see daylight through the windows ahead-

And then the ceiling above me completely gives way.

* * *

I think I black out for a few minutes, because the next thing I'm aware of is Peter frantically calling my name.

"Vivien!" he shouts. "Vivien!"

"Over here!" I answer, as loud as I can. Which is to say, not very loud at all. I can't seem to draw a full breath in. "Peter, over here!"

I catch sight of his pale face peeking past a pile of collapsed beams several feet away.

"Thank God," he mutters. "You ok, Vixie?"

"I'm assuming- that's a rhetorical question," I gasp back. There's a building on me, how the fuck do you think I feel?

My entire left side is pinned underneath a heavy metal support beam, which I guess explains why I can't really breathe. I can move my fingers and toes though, so I'm assuming I'm not paralyzed or anything. Really, it's the breathing I'm worried about.

"Did everyone- else make it out?" I manage to ask. "Myles-? James-?"

God, did Hank get stuck in here? I hope not.

"Yeah, everyone's waiting out back. You were the only one who got stuck. But Dadneto's here," Peter assures me. "We'll get you out of there, ok? Just sit tight."

I try to chuckle, but it ends up coming out as a watery kind of cough. "I'm not going anywhere, trust me."

While I wait I try to concentrate on catching my breath. I haven't managed it by the time Magneto lifts the beam off me with a simple flick of his wrist.

And I  _still_  haven't by the time we get back to base, either. If anything, it's getting harder and harder to draw in a breath. I'm starting to think I might have punctured a lung, or at least broke a rib or two. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"What hurts, Vivien?" Wanda asks anxiously, clutching my hand.

The entire Brotherhood is gathered around the sofa James laid me down on when we got back. It's freaking me out, actually, because I kinda feel like they've gathered to watch me die.

_Am_  I dying? It doesn't feel like it. When I pictured dying I sorta imagined that it wouldn't hurt this much, you know? But it's not like I've ever done it before.

God, I don't want to die. I'm not ready. I've got too many people to worry about to let go just yet.

"My chest," I whisper. "Hurts to- breathe."

"Sissy, please don't die," Myles murmurs. Jesus, what would happen to him without me?

"Trying not to, Myles," I assure him.

"Do we have anything for the pain?" James directs the question towards Magneto, who shakes his head grimly.

"I can go get some," Peter offers quickly. "I'll be in and out of a hospital before anyone notices."

His dad seems to consider that for a moment before nodding his approval. "Get morphine and a syringe," he orders. Once Peter's gone he turns back to James. "At least that will keep her comfortable, until..."

Both of my brothers react with horror.

"Until  _what?"_  James demands.

Magneto shrugs. "Until she decides to live or die," he replies.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's not how it works.

"She's a feral, is she not? Her body will either heal itself, or it won't."

"There's gotta be something else we can do," my elder brother presses, while Myles nods anxiously in agreement.

"Dad- is there really nothing?" Wanda adds. "A hospital we can take her to-?"

"We can't take her to the hospital without the humans realizing she was part of the skirmish with police today," Mastermind chimes in. It honestly looks like he's having a hard time not smiling. Well fuck you too, dude.

Again, all of them are arguing about getting me medical treatment while I lay there completely helpless. It's like I'm fucking dead already.

Magneto hesitates, but the combined pleas of my brothers and his daughter finally make him fold. "I know a place," he admits reluctantly. "But truly, only as a last resort."

* * *

Peter returns with the morphine soon after that.

I want to protest- I don't like the idea of falling asleep right now, especially without my own control. What if I never wake up again? I'd rather just try to ride this out-

But I can't even find the breath to tell them no anymore.

This heavy stillness sweeps quickly over me after they stick me with the needle. A sense of nothingness that absolutely terrifies me, because it's exactly how I pictured it would be like to die.

_I wonder how Hank will feel if he finds out I kicked the bucket?_  I think as my eyes drift closed.

And then I don't know anything for a very, very long time.


	30. Chapter 30

  **The Last Resort**

October 26, 1974

A voice finally floats to me after what seems like a forever of lonely, unfeeling darkness.

_You're going to make it, Vivien. You're too stubborn to die on me._

Um, thanks? I'm going to choose to take that as a compliment. Having a tenacious hold on life can't be a  _bad_  thing, right?

But who's giving out the backhanded compliments, anyway? It almost sounded like it was in my head, but then  _not,_  at the same time. Like I'm half-asleep still and someone spoke to me.

I'm half-asleep. Which would mean that I'm also half-awake, right?

Holy shit, does that mean I'm  _not_  dead? Because that would be  _super._

To test that theory I crack my eyelids for a second, only to get rewarded by a blinding white light stabbing me straight in the eyeballs. Ok, I guess that means the jury's still out on the whole still-alive thing.

But wait- my chest still hurts. Like,  _a lot._  And so does my leg.

I'm no theological expert, but I'm pretty sure there's some kind of rule about getting all healed up when you reach the pearly gates or whatever. Otherwise I would demand a fucking refund.

So... I'm going to say I'm not dead, then. But where am I?

I squint against the bright overhead lights and finally make out a plain white ceiling. Ok, progress.

With a lot of effort I manage to lift my head enough to look down at myself. I appear to be in a hospital bed, hooked up to a heart rate monitor.

Across from where I lay is an opening to another room full of all sorts of scientific equipment, at least from what I can tell. It's all cold, sterile metal to match the forbidding white walls.

What the fuck?

How did I end up in a place like this? And where are my brothers? Peter? Wanda?

I vaguely remember Magneto saying something about a last resort option before I went under. Is this the place he was talking about, then? Well in that case I wanna know why the hell it was a last resort.

I know he's not my biggest fan right now, but that doesn't mean he'd sell me out to some whacked out scientist to fix up and then experiment on, right? Or dump me at a hospital so the cops would find me?

Shit. I wouldn't put it past that dead-eyed bastard. He probably saw a chance to get rid of me without-

Just then I sense movement to my left.

I glance over to see there's a man standing a few feet from me, facing away so I can't see what he's doing. Whatever it is, he seems pretty absorbed in it.

Well then.

Considering that I'm alone in a place that  _may_  or may not be a mad scientist's lair, I think it best that I take the opportunity to get the hell out of here while I can. Just in case, you know?

I brace myself for what I'm about to do- I know it's going to be pretty damn painful.

_Oh this is going to suck._

Before I can talk myself out of it I rip off the heart rate monitor and make a break for the door. Each step feels about a thousand times harder than it should be, but that's probably because I still can't breathe all that well.

Still, I manage to make it out the door before the guy notices I'm gone.

And then-

"Vivien!" a male voice calls out behind me. "Vivien, stop! You're safe here-"

Ok, call me crazy, but that guy almost sounds like Hank.  _Almost._

I can hear someone chasing me, but I'm already stumbling along as fast as I can go and they're catching up no problem. I'm definitely not winning this footrace.

"Vivien!"

As a last ditch effort I spin around and throw a punch- the sloppiest, most awful punch I've  _ever_  tried to make.

The guy easily blocks the blow and grabs onto my wrist. And then he catches my waist because I'm about to fall over. Jesus Christ, I just want the earth to open up and swallow me and my embarrassment.

"Let me go, asshole!" I snarl, baring my fangs.

"Vivien, it's ok," the man protests. Again, he sounds so much like Hank it's downright eerie.

This  _can't_  be Hank though, right?

He's a  _human,_  for crying out loud. That much I can smell- but wait, am I catching a whiff of something else too? Hard to say, since I can't inhale all that well.

And I mean, sure, this guy is tall like Hank is. But Hank is huge and furry while this guy is kinda lanky and most definitely- oh, I don't know-  _not blue_.

Except for his eyes, that is. He's got big blue eyes framed by nerdy-looking glasses and these quirky eyebrows that actually kinda do remind me of-

_Hold on a second._

No way. It can't be him...  _right?_

It's the earnest expression he gives me as he looks directly in my eyes that clinches it. "You're safe, I promise," he tells me, all adorably sincere.

Ok, I'm starting to feel  _really_  lightheaded right now.

My sweet baby Jesus, this  _is_  Hank. How is this even possible?

His face is swimming in front of my eyes at this point. It's getting hard to focus. "Hank?" I whisper.

And then I pass out.

* * *

Instead of coming-to slowly in a drug-induced haze this time I startle awake like I usually do, and then hiss in pain from the movement.

_Ouch, dammit._

Fuck. Where am I, again?

"Easy. Vivien, you're fine-" a familiar voice assures me.

I look around frantically while it all comes back to me- the explosion, being knocked out at the Brotherhood base, and then waking up here, in this laboratory or whatever with a guy who may or may not be Hank watching over me.

He's sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed I'm laying in again, holding out a hand but not quite touching me. I'm guessing he brought me back in here after I passed out on him- another  _brilliant_  moment on my part. Great.

"You're in Westchester," Possibly-Hank explains gently, "for medical treatment. It was touch and go for a few, but I think you're going to be ok. How do you feel?"

I'm sorry, but that's gotta be the stupidest question I've ever heard.

"Like a building fell on me," I reply. Obviously.

His lips twitch, like he's trying not to smile.

God, that sort of expression makes it  _impossible_  to think that this isn't Hank. It  _has_  to be him. He makes that face when I say something funny and he's being too much of a butthead to admit it.

"Hank?" I ask dubiously. "You  _are_  Hank, aren't you?"

He nods sheepishly. "H-how'd you know it was me?"

How  _did_  I know?

I'm not really sure. I mean, the more I look at him the more I feel like an idiot for not realizing this is Hank almost immediately. The angles of his face, the shape of his nose and lips- yup, definitely Hank.

Still handsome, just... not as  _unique,_  I guess you could say. I don't know if I like this all that much. It's almost like I woke up to find my favorite teddy bear had shaved himself naked or something.

How the fuck did this happen?

"Your eyebrows, of course," I finally respond, because that was my first big hint when I saw him. But then I gesture towards him pointedly. "What the  _hell,_ Hank?"

"I take a serum that makes me look human, most of the time," he explains.

"You  _smell_  human, too," I add.

"That's because while I'm on the serum, I  _am_  human," Hank replies, his expression wary. "Genetically speaking, at least."

Ok, that just pisses me off. All the stuff that he told me at Alkali Lake- does he even  _believe_  in that shit?

"Why?" I demand.

"Why what?"

"Why do you take a drug that hides who you are?" I press, my voice getting louder with every word. God, first the Brotherhood, and now Hank. Can anyone give it to me straight anymore? "I thought you said you don't teach the kids here to hide? But  _you_  get to? That seems hypocritical to me."

I'm not done yelling at him- not by a long shot- but when I try to draw in a breath to keep talking I realize that I  _can't._  For a second I sit there gasping, trying to somehow fill my lungs with air and completely failing.

Hank springs into action. "Sit up all the way, please," he orders, moving to sit on the edge of the hospital bed. When I do as he says he places his hands on either side of my chest and firmly presses against my ribs. "Try to breathe deep now."

Oh, finally.  _Air,_  beautiful air. I don't give a shit that it tastes like a hospital in here- for the first time since that building fell on me I'm able to catch my breath.

I know I should probably be thankful to Hank for that, but I'm still mad at him. And the fact that my heart beats a little faster when he's touching me doesn't exactly help my mood, either.

"Getting a little handsy, there?" I mutter. I mean, one finger slip and he'd totally be copping a feel.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Hank replies quickly, like he's embarrassed. "I need to wrap your ribs. Swing your legs over for me, please."

Ugh, the  _second_  he removes his hands I go back to struggling for breath. It fucking  _sucks._

So I awkwardly scoot around to the edge of the bed without arguing while Hank grabs himself some supplies. Then he sits in front of me and starts to wrap an Ace bandage around my ribs, so I have to put my hands on his shoulders to make it easier.

"I didn't used to look like that," Hank says suddenly. "Furry and blue, I mean. I looked pretty much like this, basically human but with huge hand-feet. Looking back... it was stupid to be so self-conscious about them, but I was. I tried to develop a formula that would hide the physical attributes of my mutation, and ended up turning into Beast, instead."

Aw, man. I don't want to feel bad for him, I really don't.

But I can't help it.

In my head I'm picturing a younger, even  _more_  awkward version of the Hank in front of me. He probably got made fun of a lot because he's  _so_  obviously a big geek, and then with the physical mutation on top of that... it must've been unbearable for a sensitive guy like Hank.

And then, in trying to "fix" himself, he only made it worse. It would be easy to tell him that it served him right for that, but I can't do it. Not when I know how it feels to be so low you'll do anything to change your lot in life.

I squeeze his shoulders sympathetically. "Sounds like a Greek tragedy," I murmur. Seriously, Sophocles would've loved to write about Hank.

"It does," Hank agrees. "But eventually I developed another serum that completely masks the X-gene. I can change back and forth as needed- though if I get worked up it's harder to keep control."

"'Worked up?'"

"Emotional, excited... when I feel any animalistic urges," he explains, his cheeks turning red.

Now  _that_  I don't like the sound of. Is he seriously telling me that he walks around like a robot with his emotions turned off to stay like this? What kind of life is that?

"Usually I can fight them off, but-"

"But nothing," I cut in. "You're still hiding."

"Don't we all?" Hank retorts. "I'm guessing you don't walk down Fifth Avenue with your hair up and smiling at everyone, Vivien. The world is what it is. Can you fault me for wanting a normal life?"

Well, "normal" is a relative concept in my opinion.

But I  _do_  get what he means- he doesn't want people to treat him like Quasimodo or some shit when he goes outside. Totally understandable.

"No, I get what you're saying on that count. That's not what I meant," I press. "I was talking about you hiding from your own emotions."

Hank doesn't answer me- which probably means he knows I'm right, the bastard.

"Lay back down," he orders gently. "Breathing should be easier, now."

He's not wrong on that one. Finally, I can breathe again.

I nod absently and lay back down.

I'm struggling with expressing something big here, and that isn't exactly my strong suit. How do I explain to Hank that everything I've been trying to do for over a year now is so  _none_  of us have to hide anymore? So he won't have to bury so much of himself because he's scared of what other people will think?

"Hank, you're not normal," I whisper. "And that's just fine. Because you're  _extraordinary._  And the reason I fight is so you and all the other mutants are free to just be themselves without shame of who they are."

Hank looks like he's searching for some sort of reply to that when a guy in a wheelchair enters the room.

This has to be the famous Professor X.


	31. Where Altruism Becomes Insanity

**Where Altruism Becomes Insanity**

"Vixen, good to see you awake," Professor X says. "How are you feeling?"

I size him up as he comes closer.

Charles Xavier, also known as Professor X. Magneto always speaks of him with this weird mixture of respect, regret, and exasperation, so I'm guessing there's a history there.

Not to jump to conclusions, but I'm assuming it involved a big fuck up on Magneto's part. That would actually explain a lot. The fact that the Brotherhood's fearless leader actually seems to have emotions when talking about Xavier, almost like a real human being or something, makes me  _really_  curious to meet this guy.

The Professor is in his late thirties, from what I can tell, with a slight build and thinning brown hair. His eyes are blue and penetrating, a lot like Magneto's. But unlike Magneto's dead-eyed stare, the Professor's gaze seems to just- I don't know-  _radiate_  serenity and warmth, I guess. Everything about him does, really.

His face is so damn kind that I can't give him the sass I'm used to dishing out to everybody else for their stupid questions. Still, I know I have to be careful with this guy. He's a telepath, after all, and for all I know the aura of niceness is just a ruse.

"Better than I did, sir," I reply. I keep my tone polite but I'm pretty sure my wariness bleeds through.

Sorry, but after that shit Mastermind pulled on me I don't trust  _anyone_  who can fuck around with my head.

"Glad to hear it," the Professor says. He gives Hank a inquiring look.

"Aspirating the lung seems to have worked," Hank offers. I can't tell if he's answering a question I couldn't hear, or if they've known each other so long he can just guess what the Professor wants. "I gave her a blood transfusion and wrapped her ribs. As long as Vixen rests, she'll pull through just fine."

A blood transfusion? From who?

I hold my wrist up to my nose and give it a sniff.

Dear fucking Lord, I smell like Hank. Not drugged-up Hank, but  _feral_  Hank's scent is mixed in with mine, the way it would smell if he marked me.

"Who's blood?" Professor X asks, surprised.

"His," I reply, frowning at the donor in question. "It smells like he marked me. Jesus, my bothers are going to kill you."

And maybe  _me_  while they're at it.

See, ferals mate for life- like swans or penguins, I guess, but  _way_  scarier. There's no divorce rate, and I'm pretty sure cheating is basically nonexistent, too. Mated ferals will stay together for the rest of their lives.

Call me a sap, but I think it's kinda...  _romantic._

Don't tell anyone I said that, alright?

But I don't think James and Myles would just be cool with the idea of me being bonded for life to another feral male, let alone an X-Man. Like,  _at all_. I can't honestly say for certain that their love for me as their sister would trump their instincts on that front, as sad as that sounds.

"It's a feral thing," Hank explains, because the Professor looks confused. His cheeks start to turn red as he turns back to me. "Would your brothers rather you be dead?"

I try to laugh- and yeah, there might be a hint of hysteria mixed in- but doing that just hurts my chest and makes it hard to breathe again. "Possibly," I manage to gasp out.

"You need to stay here for a few days, anyway," Hank says. "Just in case you relapse. But that will help with the scent, too."

I nod uneasily.

A few days, great.

Are Hank and I going to be able to stay away from each other for that long if I'm stuck here? I mean, I asked him to not speak to me anymore the last time we saw each other, but then all of this happened.

Should I ask him to leave me alone while I'm here, then? To remind him of what I said? Am I even strong enough to do that?

Oh, I've got a bad feeling about this.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like, Vixen," the Professor says sincerely.

Jesus, he's so nice I barely know how to react to that. I'm so used to people being assholes that it's like he's a fucking alien or something. I'm not sure I can trust that. "Thank you, sir," I reply.

"I'll have some food sent down for your both," Professor X tells Hank. "You should stay with your patient."

Hank nods. "Thanks."

"Is he really as nice as he seems?" I mutter aloud after the wheelchair-bound man leaves. Or is there an ulterior motive to all this?

"He is," Hank replies.

I guess the evidence kinda points that way, considering that I'm supposed to be one of the bad guys and the Professor allowed me to be brought here. Magneto must've known they would help me. That Xavier would welcome me here, and Hank would try to save me out of the goodness of their hearts even though I'm technically an enemy.

In my opinion that's kinda taking altruism to an insane degree, but you're definitely not going to hear me bitching about it right now. I'm grateful to still be breathing.

Which reminds me- even if I'm still on the fence about talking to him for the next few days I guess I should at least thank Hank for saving my ass.

"Thank you," I tell him quietly. "For saving my life."

"You're welcome," he replies. "Does that make us even? I think I've lost count."

"So have I," I agree, giving him a reluctant grin.

It hurts to be reminded of the times we've had each other's backs. It brings to mind all the sticky feelings between me and Hank, and I know it would be better for both of us if we could just forget about all of it.

Hank hesitantly takes the seat next to the hospital bed again, his expression hopeful. He's giving me these big puppy dog eyes, like he's silently pleading with me to keep talking to him.

Oh for fuck's sake. That's just not  _fair._

_Don't look at him, Babineaux,_  I tell myself sternly, gazing pointedly at the wall instead.  _Don't give in. Resist, resist!_

I manage to hold out for a grand total of five very uncomfortable minutes before chancing a glance over at him. Big mistake.

_Please,_  his big blue eyes seem to say.  _Please talk to me, Vivien. I'm sorry._

Aw man. Why,  _why_  do I have to be such a sucker?

I let out a sigh of defeat. "So... you guys are really letting a Brotherhood member stay inside the sacred X-mansion?" I ask tentatively.

Oh my God. You'd think that with a conversational topic like  _that_  it would make Hank shut down a little, but nope. He lights up like a Christmas tree because I'm offering the proverbial olive branch, even though he's trying to hide it.

And of course that makes me melt even more, dammit.

"We are," Hank replies.

"Why?" I ask, because I'm genuinely curious. I mean, are the X-Men  _really_  that selfless? Because if so, somebody needs to go wake up Jesus so he can come pat them on the back or something.

"Part of being an X-Man is showing mercy, even to your enemies," Hank explains after a moment's thought. "You were dying, and Erik, even if he thinks we're weak for it, knew we would help you because it was the right thing to do."

Of course my paranoid self has to poke holes in taking compassion to that extreme. Or is it just realism?

"That could bite you guys in the ass really badly," I point out. "What if I decided to-?"

"Would you?" Hank interjects.

"No, but it's naive to think all of your enemies will have the same scruples," I retort. Duh.

He shrugs. "We're not going to compromise our beliefs because other people aren't honorable," he tells me. "If we do, it's like our enemies win anyway."

I glare at him.

"What?"

"I think being so rigid in your ideals is dangerous to the kids you're trying to protect here," I observe. But then a pretty sobering thought occurs to me and makes me sigh. "I guess when you think about it, that's the big difference between the Brotherhood and the X-Men. We don't bother with having so many high-minded rules that we set out for ourselves. That way we can't feel bad when we end up breaking them."

"Don't pretend like you're completely devoid of a moral compass, Vivien," Hank counters sharply. "I wouldn't be alive if that was true."

"Oh, I have one," I agree. "I'm just not sure it points true north, is all."

I mean really- I  _do_  always try to do what I think is right, but some days I have to wonder.

He grins, and God dammit, even looking like this his smile still makes my stomach all fluttery. "I admire your self-awareness," he says. "It's a rare trait in a Brotherhood member."

"Yeah, well- I think we can agree that you believe I'm some sort of Brotherhood snowflake," I mutter sarcastically.

Hank's quiet laughter has this kinda sad undertone to it.

I hear footsteps coming down the hall before he does, but thankfully he notices before I have to warn him.

A few seconds later Marvel Girl and Havok enter the room with two trays of food floating in front of them. Marvel Girl seems a little nervous, but Havok has this really ugly look on his face. Oh, great.

"We brought you food," he announces. And the award for obvious statements goes to...

"Thanks," Hank replies, taking the trays out of the air.

It's not until just then that I realize that I'm actually hungry. How long was I even knocked out for, anyway? On second thought, I probably don't want to know.

Hank puts his tray down and then helps me set mine up.

_Well this sucks,_  I think, taking a look at my meal.

It's a plate full of shit like Brussels sprouts, lima beans, and spinach. But then Hank's got a tray full of mashed potatoes, steak and even a brownie. Aw man, I  _love_  brownies.

Who the fuck did this? What an injustice, jeez.

I bet it was Havok, the bastard. I know he hates me after I gave him a black eye and ruined his pretty-boy face the last time I fought him. And I think Hank said Cyclops, the guy I gave a concussion, is his brother. So he probably loaded my plate with the nastiest things he could find just to spite me.

Still, I guess beggars can't be choosers or whatever. I'm kinda at their mercy here and have to accept whatever charity I can get. "Thanks," I manage to politely say, restraining myself from sticking my tongue out at him.

"How are you feeling?" Marvel Girl asks kindly.

I'm too miffed about getting gypped out of a brownie to hide my surprise. Why is she being nice to me? Is it because I saved her from James that one time?

"A little better, thank you," I reply honestly.

She gives me a tentative smile, which I can't help returning. It kinda feels like we're having a moment or something.

"How soon will she be well enough to leave?" Havok asks Hank gruffly.

"A few days."

"Alright," he says. "We'll monitor her in two's-"

"We can, if it makes you feel better," Hank agrees, "but I don't think that's really necessary."

Havok frowns.

"I know you won't trust me, but I give you my word I won't cause trouble while I'm here," I add, keeping my tone reasonable. I'm sorry, but the thought of having X-Men babysitters sounds fucking terrible. "It would be poor repayment for the kindness that's been shown to me. And if you don't believe I have a conscience, I hope you at least give me credit for having a  _brain._  Trying anything in a house full of X-Men while I'm wounded is pure stupidity."

"Fine," Havok mutters after a moment. "Hank-"

"Keep an eye on her," Hank concludes. "I will."

The blonde gives me one last dirty look before leaving, but Marvel Girl actually stays behind.

"If you tell me your sizes I can find you some clothes," she offers tentatively. "Since you're going to be here for a few days."

"That- that would be wonderful," I tell her. Because seriously, the idea of wearing my dusty, dirty jumpsuit for the next couple days sounds really gross. I'm not about to look that gift horse in the mouth. "Thank you."

After writing down my sizes the girl excuses herself, leaving Hank and I alone.

I glance over at him and give him a flirty smile. "So... what can I do to convince you to share that brownie with me?"


	32. Open Mouth, Insert Foot

**Open Mouth, Insert Foot**

Hank looks like he's debating the question internally for a moment. "Eat all of your food," he says finally, "and I'll consider it."

I pout at him.

"Fine," he agrees, with a sigh I can tell isn't real. "But please eat. I know it's not the most appetizing of meals, but try anyway, alright?"

Ah, so he noticed the food inequality. I wonder if Hank will do me a solid and lodge a complaint? God, I hope so. I  _hate_  Brussels sprouts.

I give him another winsome smile as he takes the seat next to my bed again, just to butter him up some more, and his cheeks immediately turn a little red in response.

It's  _adorable,_  of course. Hank is just too easy to tease- I could do it all day, really.

And I guess for the next couple days I'll have the opportunity, won't I? The chance to talk to him, to laugh with him without worrying that at any moment we'll have switch to  _fighting_  if someone finds us.

I know I shouldn't be looking forward to it- God, this going to hurt us both in the long run- but I can't help myself. To be honest... with Hank around, staying here won't be bad _at all_. I might even enjoy it.

And that's even with the grumpy blonde trying to poison me with vegetables. I mean, hello, I have  _fangs._  He works at a school. You'd think Havok would be smart enough to make the connection that I have to eat more meat, right?

Oh well.

I can't complain too much because I know the X-Men have absolutely no reason to be kind to me. I mean, I've actually gotta give Havok credit for not insisting that I have a constant guard detail while I'm here, and then Marvel Girl offering to get me clothes...

Is this her way of thanking me for before? Or is she joining Hank and the Professor in their unofficial bid for sainthood? Why do I have the feeling that all of them are trying to butter me up for something?

"Is she really that nice, too?" I mutter aloud, without really meaning to.

"Who, Jean?" Hank asks blankly.

I drop my silverware and cover my ears with my hands. "I don't want to know her real name, dammit!" I snap at him. "We know each other's, and look where it's gotten us."

Seriously, look at us and all of our messy feelings.

Part of me wants to say I wish I could go back to Alkali Lake and tell myself to walk away before I get in too deep, but I know that's wrong. Despite all this confusion and pain I can't truly say I regret getting to know Hank. Not when he opened my eyes to so many things.

But that doesn't mean we need to spread the misery, does it?

Hank gives me this really, really sad look. It makes me wonder if he finally understands why I told him to stay away from me before: because I care about him, and I'm  _trying_  to save him some grief.

He clears his throat. "Marvel Girl is very kind, yes," he replies. "She helped me get you breathing again after your heart stopped beating earlier."

Whoa now. My  _heart_  stopped? I guess I can see why Magneto was willing to bring me here then, if he saw me getting that bad before. My brothers and the twins must've pushed him into using his "last resort." I just can't picture him deciding to bring me here otherwise.

But I suppose I just got an answer to my question about Marvel Girl-  _Jean._  We're square on the life debt now and yet she's still being so nice, for no obvious reason at all.

"Sounds like I need to thank her again," I murmur. These X-Men are going to make my brain explode, I swear.

It's definitely going to be an interesting couple days. That much I can say, at least.

For a few minutes I just focus on not barfing up my food, taking little tiny bites so it doesn't hurt my chest. But finally I finish and look up at Hank, giving him a hopeful grin.

"Yes?" he says.

_Oh don't play dumb with me, Beastie Boy._

"I believe I was promised part of a brownie," I reply pointedly.

"So you were," Hank agrees. He chuckles and holds out the entire thing.

"Just part of it, silly," I scold him.

I break it in half and pop one piece in my mouth. The other I hold up for Hank, who obediently leans in and takes a bite. God, it's just like Alkali Lake.

Only worse. Always worse.

* * *

Marvel Girl comes back with some clothes and toiletries a few minutes later. Hot damn, I'm so happy for the chance to shower and get out of this dirty jumpsuit that I could hug her.

Not sure that would go over well, though.

"Thank you so much," I tell her fervently.

"Are you going to need help- er, changing or anything?"

"No, I've got this," I assure her as I gingerly maneuver myself around so I can get off the bed. At least I hope I've got this, jeez. "But - Marvel Girl, thank you. Not just for this, but for earlier too. I heard you helped when I croaked."

"You're welcome," the redheaded girl replies. She looks like she might want to say something else, but instead she turns tail and hurries out of the room.

Trust me, I can relate. I don't know what to say either.

I sigh and manage to get to my feet, putting most of my weight on my left leg.

God, this sucks.

I get to pick favoring the leg that had a fucking building fall on it over the one that has a goddamn gunshot wound. I'm absolutely pathetic right now.

Hank hurries to my side. "Put your arms around me," he says. When I open my mouth to tell him I'm not a cripple or something he cuts in, "you're never going to get better if you overexert yourself."

_Well maybe I don't want to hear your fucking logic, alright?_

I sigh and don't protest when he gently picks me up in a bridal hold- my weight doesn't seem to bother him at all.

And  _yeah,_  that's sexy, ok? They're obviously not covered in fur or as heavily muscled as I remember with him, but it still feels so damn good to have Hank's arms around me again. I guess that even with him in this unfamiliar form I like being this close to him.

Great, just great.

"You know, right now it just feels like you're rubbing it in my face how  _not broken_  you are," I mutter grumpily as he carries me to the bathroom. "Show off."

Hank chuckles. "Sounds like you're on to me," he jokes.

I smile and impulsively kiss him on the cheek, causing his face to immediately go red.

Aw, man.

I kiss guys on the cheek all the time- my brothers, Peter, Mr. Cole and Evan- without it ever being weird or anything. But I guess I didn't really think about all the other issues between me and Hank when I kissed him just now, and it kinda brought everything that we've been trying to ignore back to the surface.

Talk about awkward.

And then he pecks me on the cheek, too. The way he darts in and out, like he's  _stealing_  it from me, makes me crack up laughing. God, he's so cute.

Too bad it hurts like a sonuvabitch to laugh. Within seconds I'm gasping in pain because it feels like my ribs are on fire.

"Sorry," Hank mutters dejectedly, but I just shake my head. He shouldn't blame himself for  _my_  stupidity, you know?

I immediately wobble when he sets me on my feet outside the bathroom, even with his hands to steady me. Christ, how embarrassing.

"I feel like a baby giraffe," I sigh. Or a goddamn toddler learning to walk.

"It behooves me to tell you that even newborn giraffes are at least six feet tall, so they're easily taller than you," Hank observes. "Maybe a baby horse would be a better comparison?"

Did he really just call me a baby horse? Oh my God, he's such a fucking dork.

"Thanks, Hank. Thanks," I mutter.

_Your social skills are top shelf, dude._

I suppose now we're even on causing the awkward moments, though. So that's kinda a good thing.

Hank unwraps my ribs again and hovers while I hobble my gimpy self into the bathroom. "Try to be as quick as you can, ok? But don't be afraid to take a break if you need it."

Naw, I  _want_  to keep my ribs unwrapped. I  _like_  not being able to breathe.

"I shall consider it," I reply haughtily, mimicking his tone from earlier. And then I stick my tongue out at him and shut the door in his face.

God, his expression is  _priceless._

* * *

I take a long time in the bathroom because I keep having to take breaks to catch my breath.

Eventually, though, I'm able to shower and carefully put on the negligee Jean brought me earlier. It's actually  _really_  pretty, but it's white and shows off quite a bit of my very  _pasty,_  freckly flesh.

Jesus Christ, I'm going to glow in the fucking dark. I hope Hank has some sunglasses to wear or I'm going to blind the poor bastard.

He's still hovering by the door when I finally step outside. His eyes go wide when he sees what I'm wearing, and his gaze immediately flicks up and down my body. He looks like someone just smacked him in the head or something.

"What are  _you_  looking at?" I ask pointedly, because he's so  _obviously_  checking me out.  _And_  liking what he's seeing, if the way he swallows thickly and his pupils dilate are anything to go by.

Way to be subtle, buddy.

I'm not going to lie- it's actually kinda cute.

"Nothing," he replies quickly, and then winces like he thinks he just insulted me. "Um, ok, not  _nothing._  You- your-"

He sorta gestures to my boobs, his face turning fire-engine red while I just kinda watch him dig himself a bigger and bigger hole. Damn, if he keeps going he's going to strike oil.

"They're um, quite nice, even if they're rather small-"

Hey, look. Hank just hit the Mother Lode.

"I mean-"

"Jesus, Hank. Just stop talking before your head explodes," I cut in, shaking my head. He was doing pretty good until he went and opened his mouth. The poor thing really has no idea how to talk to women, does he?

I  _probably_  shouldn't find that endearing, but for some reason I do.

Just perfect.

"Good idea," he agrees weakly. He holds up the compression bandage and clears his throat nervously. "I apologize. Um, may I-?"

I nod and lift up the edge of the negligee so he can wrap my ribs more tightly for the night. Still flushing, he kneels down awkwardly in front of me.

Before Hank can get to work, though, his blush fades and his expression becomes pained when he sees just how bad my bruises are. I saw in the bathroom mirror that pretty much my entire torso is covered in them from getting squished. I have a bad feeling I'm going to be all the colors of the rainbow in a day or two.

"Do you need some painkillers?" he asks quietly. As he speaks his hands gently brush along the skin of my stomach and down my sides. It makes me shiver. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I tell him. "Y-your hands are cold, is all."

But not really. That was totally a  _good_  shiver, if you know what I mean. I guess that Hank doesn't even  _need_  his claws to make my skin feel like it's on fire. And that's definitely  _not helpful._

He moves quickly to wrap me up again and then carries me back to bed.

I start to feel really sleepy while he changes out the bandage on my leg. Wow, I guess that trip to the bathroom  _really_  took a lot out of me. That's just sad.

"There," Hank announces quietly once he finishes up. "I'll have to change that bandage in the morning, but for now you're good to go."

"Thank you," I say sincerely. At this point every time I blink it's hard to reopen my eyes, I'm so tired. "For everything."

"No problem," he replies. I watch with half-closed lids as he goes over to a closet and pulls out a blanket that he uses to tenderly tuck me in. "Get some rest, Vivien."

"Are you staying in here?"

"Yes," Hank assures me, gently brushing a stray piece of hair off my cheek. "Just in case. I don't want all my hard work to be for naught, you know."

That's a bullshit excuse, and we both know it.

I fall asleep with a smile on my face.


	33. A Chat with the Professor

  **A Chat with the Professor**

I wake up later- how  _much_  later, I'm not sure, but it feels like it's been at least a few hours- with a painful start, feeling a little disorientated.

_This isn't my bed. This sure as hell isn't my_  room. _Where am I again?_

And then I see Hank slumped over in his chair with his head on the bed I'm laying in. He's currently sleeping, but something about the way his head is angled kinda gives me the impression that he fell asleep while watching over me. He didn't even take off his glasses.

It all looks kinda painful, actually.

Moving carefully, I lean over and slip his glasses off for him so they're not cutting into the side of his head anymore.

_I should probably wake him up so he can go to bed. He doesn't really_  have _to stay in here,_  I muse to myself as I absently stroke his short brown hair with my free hand.

Yeah, I know I shouldn't be touching him like this, but it's not hurting him if he doesn't know, right? It only hurts  _me._ I can handle that. I'm no stranger to pain.

When my hand traces down to his cheek Hank turns his head a little, leaning into my touch even in his sleep. And then when I caress along his jaw to his mouth he unconsciously kisses my fingertips.

Aw, shit. Yup, I'm  _definitely_  hurting me.

But despite that I keep stroking his hair as I settle back down to sleep. I'm not going to wake Hank up and tell him to go. Because as painful as it is to be this close to him, I can't bring myself to stay away, either.

Not here, alone in the dark where no one can see me hurting myself like this.

* * *

October 27, 1974

I've always been a pretty heavy sleeper, which isn't really a good thing when you live a life like mine. You've gotta be ready for anything at a moment's notice.

I guess you could say that my inner Vixen has come up with a way to counteract the fact that I'm basically as responsive as a rock once my eyes close. I pretty much never wake up slow- when my eyes open, I tend to be ready to react to anything that may have happened while I was dead to the world. I put it down as a survival instinct.

Not exactly a good thing when it still hurts to move.

The next morning I can tell I'm not alone when I wake up before I even open my eyes. There's other people here-  _people,_  as in plural. That immediately makes me defensive, which of course makes me sit up too fast.

"Dammit," I hiss, grabbing at my chest- it feels like I just got stabbed in the lung.  _So_  tired of that already.

And then of course my pride is wounded when I see Hank and the Professor watching my little fit. Great, they just saw that I can't even wake up without hurting myself. How pathetic is that?

"Good morning," Hank says. Aw man, he looks so cute with his hair sorta mashed up on one side from how he had his head on the bed. And then I'm over here probably looking like a tornado survivor.

"Morning," I mumble grumpily, because that shit's not fair. "Hi, Professor."

"Good morning," Xavier replies in this obnoxiously cheerful tone.  _Ugh,_  a morning person. "Hank is going to excuse himself for a bit. I hope you don't mind if I keep you company in the meantime."

Well yeah, I  _do_  mind. I don't want to be alone with the guy who can read my thoughts like the funny pages, no matter  _how_  ridiculously nice he seems. But I can't exactly admit that, can I?

I chuckle nervously. "It's your house, sir. Your rules."

The Professor gives me a charming smile.

"Would you mind helping me before you go?" I ask Hank, gesturing towards the bathroom. "Please?"

"No problem."

When he scoops me up I can feel the Professor staring at us. Of course that just makes me even more uncomfortable, and I guess Hank can sense that.

"I won't be long," he murmurs as he carries me. He sounds like he's trying to be reassuring, which pretty much does the opposite for me. Why exactly do I need to be reassured? What the hell is Xavier going to do to me?

But then Hank asks a question that kinda puts the brakes on the doom and gloom for a minute.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

That perks me right up- I'm  _such_  a sucker for food. "A double bacon cheeseburger and onion rings," I reply hopefully. I figure with Hank in charge of feeding the prisoner I might  _actually_  have a shot at getting something edible.

He snorts back laughter. "Still fighting breakfast food stigmatization, I see," he notes with a smile.

"Damn straight," I agree, grinning.

"I'm sorry, but I really don't think your stomach can handle that request. It had a building fall on it less than two days ago, you know."

I pout at him.

"I'll see what I can do," Hank mutters reluctantly, with a good-natured sigh of defeat. It honestly makes me want to kiss him again, but I manage to behave myself this time.

I try to dawdle as much as I can, but it still feels like in no time he's settling me back into bed and leaving me alone with the Professor.

"Did you sleep well?" Xavier asks once Hank walks out of the room.

"As well as I could," I reply guardedly. Unfortunately that comes a lot less polite than I intended, but with Hank gone as a buffer I'm starting to feel really uneasy.

_Oh, great. Way to act suspicious, Babineaux._

I mean, yeah, this guy has been  _nothing_  but nice to me so far. But experience has kinda shown me that it never hurts to be wary when someone's stronger than you are. And Charles Xavier, from what I've been told, is the strongest telepath on the freaking planet.

The Professor looks at me curiously, and I don't know why, but some instinct tells me to start thinking of unimportant stuff- like translating  _Amazing Grace_  into Cajun or how to position my fingers for guitar chords.

Just in case he starts trying to dig around in my head to figure out why I'm so nervous, you know? It's probably like putting up a piece of tissue paper against a blizzard, but it's better than nothing.

Xavier blinks in surprise, but his smile kinda gets this air of reluctant admiration to it. "Did Erik teach you to do that?"

So he  _was_  trying to listen in. Leave it to the British guy to stick his face where it doesn't belong. I mean, I guess I can understand why- I  _am_  a Brotherhood member after all- but still. That doesn't mean I have to  _like_  it.

Or  _let_  him, if I can manage it.

"No," I reply sharply. "It just seemed like a good idea. I don't want you in my head."

He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "I apologize," he murmurs sincerely. "You  _were_  practically shouting, though. I assure you that I'm usually very good at controlling myself. Though I must admit, sometimes it's difficult not to just...  _reach in_  and find the information I want to know."

"Yeah, well, just because you  _can_  doesn't mean you  _should,"_  I snap. I'm starting to panic a bit, I'll admit it. I don't want him to find out about Alkali Lake or Spyke or a hundred other things that are none of his fucking business. "Why not just try  _asking?"_

Xavier looks guilty. For a second I could swear that an old, remembered regret flashes across his face. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "Please, could you tell me why you're so anxious?"

"I don't like being around people who can screw with my thoughts," I explain warily. "And you just kinda proved why I should  _keep_  thinking like that, didn't you?"

He winces, like he's kicking himself for fucking up or something. "Yes, I suppose I did," he agrees. After a moment's pause he adds, "I suppose Erik told you to be so cautious of me, didn't he?"

I shake my head. "That's all me," I admit. "He actually speaks really highly of you. I just..."

"Have a hard time trusting people?" the Professor offers gently.

I nod. Bingo.

"Do you trust Erik?"

Without really meaning to I snort derisively. I guess that's answer enough.

He gives me that curious look again, and I automatically start to mentally shout The Kinks lyrics as loud as I can. He grins sheepishly when I scowl at him.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "I've heard a lot about you from my X-Men, and I'm just trying to...  _understand_  you, I suppose."

"Yeah, well, get in line," I mutter bitterly. "And good fucking luck. I mean- excuse me."

Xavier chuckles. "That's alright. May I ask, then- if you don't trust Erik, why are you in the Brotherhood?"

What a nosy question, jeez.

I  _really_  don't want to answer him, but I decide to anyway just in case he chooses to dig around in my head instead. I won't be able to stop him if he really tries.

"My brothers," I admit reluctantly, staring down at the blanket.

"Fox and Jackal, yes?"

I nod and glance up at his face. "They wanted to join up, and they need me, so..."

_So I'm on a side that's fighting for a cause I don't believe in._

It's almost unnoticeable, but I think the Professor's face twitches slightly. Shit, did he hear that, the nosy bastard?

There's a long pause.

"Jean told me you saved her life from Fox several months ago," the Professor finally observes.

"Who's Jean?" I ask, playing dumb. I think I can see where this is going and I don't like it.

"Marvel Girl."

"Oh. Yeah," I agree with an awkward shrug. And because I can sense the judgment coming off of him in waves I add in, "my brothers don't always do the right thing, I know that. But a lot of bad things have happened to them, ok?"

"Wouldn't that mean, by extension, that a lot of bad things have happened to  _you_  as well?"

I glower at him. What's he even getting at?  _"And?"_  I retort. "Not everyone deals with things the same way. It's not fair to expect them to, is it? That doesn't mean you stop loving someone, just because they do stuff you don't like."

"No," the Professor says, and again he's got this regretful expression on his face. "I suppose not. But Vixen..."

He pauses, like he's searching for the right words.

" _'When a moral sense begins to rot it is worse than when you had none,''_ " he offers finally, with a meaningful look my way.

I recognize the quote, though it takes me a second to place it. Is he talking about my brothers? Or  _me?_  Trying to tell me not to lose my own moral compass because of the Brotherhood or something?

Yeah, ok.

" _The Once and Future King_ , T.H. White," I muse.

He looks impressed. "Yes. You've read it?"

I nod. "Yeah. And just so you know, you quoting from a book that talks about not abusing power is  _really_  rich, considering you've tried to get into my head a couple times."

Xavier's expression is fucking  _priceless._

His eyes go wide and he coughs uncomfortably- I guess he's not used to people calling him out like that. After all the irritating questions he just put me through it actually feels kinda good to watch him squirm. Payback's a bitch, isn't it?

"So- Vixen, is reading something you enjoy?" Professor X asks.

I can't help laughing at his clumsy, obvious attempt to change the subject. I decide to let it pass, though, because the conversation was making me  _super_ uncomfortable, too. "Why yes it is, Professor," I reply sweetly.

"Call me Charles, please."

"Ok, Charles."

"We have a very large library here, you know," he explains. His enthusiasm becomes more genuine when he sees that he sparked my interest. "One of the most prestigious in the area. It's been in my family for several generations. I believe some of the books are even first editions brought over from the Old World."

"Oh yeah? Which ones?"

"Mostly British literature. The Bronte sisters, for example, and I think I even have some of the older Shakespearean plays," Charles replies. "What is it that you enjoy the most?"

"Pretty much anything I can get my hands on," I tell him wistfully.

_Seriously, Chuck, you had me at "library."_

He chuckles. "You'd certainly like this place, then."

Footsteps in the hall grab my attention just then- someone's coming.

A few seconds later Hank appears in the doorway bearing a bowl on a tray. He taps awkwardly on the door frame, though we obviously know he's standing there. "May I-?" he asks politely.

"I guess," I reply imperiously. "But only because you brought me food."

His smile makes my heart flip flop.

_Stop that,_  I tell the little traitor- Jesus, is talking to my own organs a sign I'm going crazy? Probably.  _Not in front of the Professor._

Hank comes closer and sets down the tray he brought me.

It's a bowlful of cheeseburger soup, with bacon sprinkles.

I burst out laughing, which of course still hurts. "You're- the  _best,"_  I gasp through the pain, clutching at my ribs. God, is he the sweetest or what? "Thank you."


	34. Memory Lane

**Memory Lane**

"We aim to please," Hank replies, faking another sigh.

He glances over at Charles, who's kinda raising his eyebrows at us. Yeah, we  _are_  acting a little too buddy-buddy right now, aren't we? Oops.

"I've discovered that Vixen has issues with arbitrary meal conventions," Hank explains awkwardly. "And I just want her to eat, or else her healing factor is going to burn itself out."

Charles nods seriously, like he understands that the younger man is just trying to be a good doctor.

Because cheeseburger soup is  _such_  a big concession, right? It's not like I demanded duck comfit with truffle oil or something crazy like that.

I roll my eyes and open my mouth to defend myself, but Hank just gives me this  _look_  that basically means to cut the crap and eat.

"Professor X was just telling me about the library," I tell him between bites. I'm really hoping Hank will take the hint- he knows how much I love reading, after all.

He glances over at the Professor, asking the question with his eyes. I guess I understand that it's kinda a big deal to let the Brotherhood member walk around or whatever, but I can't help hoping.

"You're not a prisoner, Vixen," Charles says kindly.

"But..." I continue dryly.

"But nothing," he replies. "You're free to move about as much as Hank allows you to. I only advise that you don't venture anywhere alone, just in case."

Alright, he just earned some  _serious_  brownie points. I might even consider forgiving him for trying to snoop on me. Maybe.

I nod. "I understand."

* * *

It takes a ridiculously long time for me to change into one of the dresses Jean brought me and otherwise get ready for public consumption, but after an  _hour_  I finally manage it.

Then I reluctantly plop myself down in the wheelchair Hank found just to make him stop fussing at me like an old mother hen after he changes the bandage on my leg. I know he means well and everything, but damn. What a worrywart.

_It's hard to believe that I'm even in a school,_  I think to myself as he finally pushes me through the halls.

Everything's all paneled dark wood and fancy crown moldings for as far as the eye can see. There's a freaking chandelier in the foyer, for crying out loud. I mean, I'm not an expert or anything (especially considering that I've never even been in a real school before) but I'm pretty sure this isn't normal.

It's rather early on a Sunday morning, so thankfully there's no one around to see us. I'm grateful for that- I'm pretty sure any meetings between me and the rest of the mansion's residents are guaranteed to be  _really_  fucking awkward. How would Hank even explain me to the kids, you know?

But I forget about all of that as soon as Hank wheels me into the library.

"Here we are," he announces.

Oh my god.

It's  _exactly_  the vision I've always had of what a perfect library would be, complete with two floors and a spiral staircase. The entire room is paneled with richly stained wooden bookcases, absolutely  _filled_  from floor to ceiling. There's little sofas everywhere (Victorian, why am I not surprised? Professor X is definitely sticking to his British roots) and Tiffany lamps for lighting.

God, I could stay in this room for  _years_  and never get bored.

Hank leans over the back of the chair so he can see my face. "What do you think?" he asks.

I'm too excited to even give him a sarcastic answer. Jesus, have I ever smiled this big before in my  _life?_  "I think I want to look around," I tell him eagerly.

He chuckles. "I can't say I'm surprised," he says. He gently helps me out of the wheelchair so I can stand. "Not for too long though, alright?"

I nod absently, but I'm not really listening. I'm trying to figure out which way I want to go first. Hopefully he doesn't mind or anything.

After a few minutes I notice out of the corner of my eye that Hank sat down on a window seat, and I can feel him observing me as I limp around from bookcase to bookcase. That doesn't bother me, though.

There's something warm in his gaze as he watches me, something I can't really explain. The closest I can get is that it's like seeing me this happy makes  _him_ happy, too.

So I guess we're both having a good time, then. No complaints here.

_"Is all that we see or seem/ But a dream within a dream?"_ I recite to myself from one of the books after a while.

"Edgar Allan Poe," Hank offers softly from his spot across the room.

I laugh. "Is there  _anything_  you don't know?"

He shakes his head bashfully and gives me a sheepish smile. "Are you a fan of his work?" he asks.

"Yeah, I suppose," I reply. "You?"

He makes a face.

"Let me guess- too weird and creepy for you?"

"Essentially," he admits, his tone a little rueful.

"Well maybe sometimes it's  _fun_  to be spooked by a story, Hank," I tell him haughtily. "Jeez, don't you like scary movies?"

He chuckles. "Every now and then," he concedes.

"Me, too." I give him a cheeky grin. "Another thing we have in common, huh?"

He grins again. "Imagine that," he murmurs.

After that I make a comment every once in a while about a book just to see what he'll say. We spend over an hour like that.

And then I stumble across the entrance to Memory Lane. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"My mom used to read this to me all the time," I murmur, pulling out a copy of _A Little Princess_.

Man, I loved this book.

I remember wondering if all headmistresses were as awful as Miss Minchin and wishing I could have friends like Sara did, instead of just my punk-ass brothers for company.

My mom told me I should always be kind like the main character- not because there's some secret payoff for it or whatever like in the book, but just because it's the right thing to do.

I don't think she'd be too happy to see where I ended up, what I've done since she died.  _Any_  of us, really.

God, the thought that my mother would be ashamed of me now makes my chest hurt even worse than it already did.

"What happened to her?" Hank asks quietly, breaking into my morbid thoughts.

I purse my lips to keep myself from telling him to mind his own business. That wouldn't be fair. Instead I awkwardly reply, "she is no longer suffering from personhood."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs sincerely.

"Don't be," I reply, trying to sound casual. I mean, it's not like it's his fault or anything.

I lean against a bookcase and look away from him, trying to take a moment to compose myself. Thinking about my parents always chokes me up a bit.

And my chest  _hurts,_  dammit. Only right now I can't tell if it's from my ribs or my heart. Maybe both?

"Please come sit down for a moment, Vivien," Hank offers, patting the space next to him on the window seat. Shit, he caught me rubbing my ribs. "Don't strain yourself."

I sigh in defeat, but I do as he says. I  _am_  tired from standing so much, though you'd never catch me admitting that aloud. I  _hate_  feeling so pathetic and broken. I just want to be better already.

"It's ok to be weak sometimes, Vivien," Hank says quietly. He reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "No one will think less of you for it."

"Except me," I retort dryly, trying to find a smile for him. Pretty sure I'm failing, though.

Then on a whim I flip my hand over and lace our fingers together. Yeah, holding hands is a  _very_  bad idea, but  _he_  started it. And anyway, taking my hand away when he's just trying to be nice would create a super awkward moment, don't you think?

Well _I_ do, at least.

Hank's hand is kinda cool compared to mine because he's human right now or whatever, but this still feels nice. His grip is gentle, but also firm somehow. The perfect amount of pressure to let me know he's here for me, like he's an anchor to hold onto in my own personal sea of loneliness, I guess.

Jesus, where the fuck did  _that_  come from?

This man is making me all poetic and shit, it's  _horrible._  I can't afford to be like that, especially not around him. One of us has to be strong, right? One of us has to keep their head on straight-

I look up at Hank to find him watching at me with this really wistful expression that just- it just makes me turn into a pile of goo, dammit. No matter how hard I try, I can't stop myself from being weak around him, and just letting him comfort me. Something about Hank makes everything I've kept locked inside for so long come loose.

And it's absolutely terrifying.

I take a deep breath. "My mother," I say quietly, "was murdered."

He winces in sympathy. "H-how?"

Instinctively, I tuck myself into a ball with my back leaning against the window frame. Unfortunately that makes me pull my hand from Hank's, but I honestly don't think I can tell this story and hold myself together any other way.

"I grew up in he Louisiana bayou," I explain, looking out the window. "Me, my brothers and my parents, we lived in this little cabin out in the middle of nowhere. Mom was a feral like us, but my dad was human. They were very different from one another, but they loved each other a lot. I think... I think he fell in love with her spirit, you know? And she loved how gentle he was."

Hank nods when I chance a glance over at him.

"They tried to keep us away from the other people that lived in the area- homeschooling, not really allowing us into town- because we were so obviously  _not_ human," I continue. "It didn't bother us, though. We had the bayou and each other. But we grew up a little wild. My parents just didn't have the heart to tame us."

Who knows what would've happened if they  _had?_  God, where would we be now if my parents were still alive?

I sigh.

"That's how it started. We didn't know how to be 'human,' not really. The way we moved, the way we looked. Myles and James thought it was funny to sneak over to people's houses and steal their chickens and stuff. Rumors started to go around about rougarou running around the bayou, and who else would it be but us? We were the wild children that no one ever saw but for glimpses through the trees. You know how people are. And then a mutant killed the president, and that made everything more tense. The townspeople had started to suspect what we were. So my parents decided it wasn't safe for us anymore, but the night we were going to leave-"

You'd think after a decade I'd be able to talk about this calmly, but nope. My throat chooses that moment to close like a steel trap. It takes a minute for me to go on.

"The local sheriff led the mob," I tell Hank, and I don't bother hiding the bitterness in my tone. "My mom heard them coming and made us hide in the woods. I remember she slapped James because he tried to argue with her about it. 'Just run and don't come back,' she told us. So we started to run, until we smelled it."

The smell of burning human flesh isn't something you can ever really forget. But I guess I'm thankful that they were dead by the time the fire got to them, thanks to all the smoke...

A tear manages to escape before I can stop it.

Shit.

"They barricaded my mom and dad in the cabin and burned it to the ground," I whisper, because that's the only way I can keep my voice even. "We found what was left of them in the morning, wrapped in each other's arms."

The memories start to swarm before my eyes- damn, talking about this was a big mistake,  _huge-_  and threaten to pull me under, but then Hank reaches out and takes my hand again. His touch centers me, as corny as that sounds. It gives me the courage to keep talking.

"We blamed the sheriff for killing them," I murmur. "He was supposed to uphold law and order, not lead a lynch mob. So James- Fox, I mean- killed the sheriff. But getting revenge on him didn't bring my parents back. It didn't make us feel any better. It made us... the monsters in their closets, and nothing else."

Hank squeezes my hand, drawing my attention. He looks really surprised, I guess, that I remember what he said back at Alkali Lake. Well I do, because it's true. I just didn't want to admit it at the time because he was being such a prick.

"What?" I demand. I try to give him a smile. "Not everything you say is complete peacenik bullshit."

He lets out a startled chuckle. "Thanks," he says dryly.


	35. Pilgrims and Indians

**Pilgrims and Indians**

For a moment we just look at each other, still holding hands.

Hank is the only person I've ever told about what happened to my family. I just don't like to talk about it, for obvious reasons. Not even to Peter and Wanda.

But... it's going to sound stupid, but I have to admit that it feels like a weight just got lifted off of me. I guess I  _needed_  to share that with someone and just didn't know it. And maybe now Hank can hopefully understand a little better why I do the things I do. Why I have to keep fighting, to keep looking out for my brothers for Mom and Dad.

Still, it's  _really_  fucking scary to be this vulnerable to someone else. I'm so used to having to be strong. Now I'm kinda worried Hank is going to look at me like I'm this poor wounded bird or something. That's not something I want  _at all_.

Time for a subject change.

"Hey, Hank."

"Hmm?"

I grin. "You know, you've still never named a better book than  _Pride and Prejudice_."

His laugh gives me those butterflies again. Damn.

* * *

"I'm getting hungry," Hank admits eventually- Jesus, we've actually been talking for hours in here. "Are you?"

I laugh. "I'm pretty much  _always_  hungry, Hank."

He smiles sheepishly. "I suppose I've been a bad doctor then, neglecting the care of my patient," he muses, to which I roll my eyes. "Would a roast beef sandwich be ok?"

Gotta love a man who understands my carnivorous instinct.

"Two," I counter.

"Ok," he agrees, chuckling. He stands up. "But only if you promise to eat them  _very_  slowly, alright? I'll be back in a minute. Just sit tight."

"Well it's not like I can go anywhere fast," I mutter. Yeah, I'm still pissed that I'm injured, alright?

Hank gives me a sympathetic look. "I know," he agrees gently. Without even seeming to think about it he reaches out and tenderly brushes my bangs away from my eyes. It's such a sweet gesture, and then the way his fingertips brush my face makes my skin feel all tingly.

Ok, slightly less pissed now.

I smile at him, and Hank gives me this adorably goofy grin in response, like he's surprised by his own nerve. It's honestly too cute for words.

"Be right back," he promises, blushing slightly.

We eat our sandwiches together on the window seat when Hank comes back- even though  _he_  ends up eating most of my second one, because my stomach starts to rebel. The fucking traitor. And then we talk some more.

I can't tell you how much I love just sitting here with him, getting to know him even more. Watching him smile, making him laugh, the way it feels for him to each out and touch my hand or sweetly brush my hair- I can't even describe how good it all feels.

For the first time in forever, I'm happy. I'm  _happy,_  ok?

Being around Hank makes me feel that way, and  _damn_  is it scary to admit that. I'm so used to only relying on myself, and the fact that it's another person who's making me feel like this really freaks me out.

God, is this what falling for someone is like? Being absolutely terrified of how you feel, but wanting to feel it anyway? Because as much as this scares me, I still want it.

I feel  _alive_  right now for the first time in years, like Hank's waking up all of the soft, squishy things I had to lock away in the dark just so I could make it through another fucking day without losing it. The world looks better when I'm next to him, as crazy as that sounds.

And look, I know there will probably be consequences for this. I know that. Every time I've ever felt even  _close_  to being happy in the past something terrible has happened, so why should this be any different?

But for now, just for a little while, I'm going to let myself enjoy this feeling.

It's evening before someone comes to pop our little bubble. Around six-thirty I hear the soft whirl of Charles' wheelchair approaching the library.

Aw, man.

We were having so much fun here ignoring the existence of the X-Men and the Brotherhood. But now it's time for reality to come crashing back in.

"What is it?" Hank asks- I guess my disappointment showed on my face.

"Charles is coming," I reply, scooting away from him a little.

We'd drifted closer to each other while we talked, like magnets or something. For a while there we were pressed together from shoulder to hip, with my feet sorta tangled between his. Not exactly a situation we want Charles walking- or, you know,  _motoring-_  in on.

"Oh," Hank mutters. He shifts away from me as well.

"Hello," Charles greets us cheerfully when he enters the room. "All is well, I hope?"

_Play casual, Babineaux._

Both of us nod, but I don't know if we're all that convincing. Even though we were just talking it still feels like the Professor just walked on something a lot more intimate than that, somehow.

"It's dinner time," he says. "Why don't you join us?"

Hank glances over at me. "Is that really a good idea?" he asks hesitantly.

Charles scoffs. "Why wouldn't it be, Hank?" he replies. "It's not like she has the plague."

I'm pretty sure that a couple of the X-Men would disagree on that one, but what do I know?

Still, I'm actually really curious to see some more of the school. After everything Hank's told me about it I'm practically  _dying_  to see it with my own two eyes.

Haha, get it? Because it took me almost dying to get here?

Well anyway-

"I don't mind," I tell them. When I start to stand Hank jumps up to help me. "Thank you."

He keeps one hand on my waist and the other holding mine as he assists me back to the wheelchair. He doesn't actually  _need_  to touch me that much to help but you really won't catch me complaining.

"Splendid," Charles replies. Once I'm sitting he says, "after you."

He cruises along next to us while Hank pushes the wheelchair down an expensively decorated hallway. I mean really, how does this crap not get broken with a bunch of mutant kids running around all the time?

A lot of discipline would be my first guess, but I have a gut feeling that's not it. It's gotta be love that keeps these kiddos in line. Love- and respect- for the Professor.

Interesting.

I can hear the cafeteria long before we actually reach it. It pretty much sounds like what I expected of a school cafeteria: a bunch of loud, childish voices echoing in an enclosed space. It makes me kinda nervous, just because I don't know how the kids will react to me and everything.

"Here we are," Charles announces when we turn into the crowded cafeteria.

And I'm using the term "cafeteria" loosely here. With the wood paneling and chandeliers it's more like a freaking five-star restaurant or some shit. There's flowers and artwork and everything.

I take all of that in within an instant before my attention is captured by the people in the room.

Mutant kids of all shapes and sizes, more than I ever thought possible, all here in one place. It's like some sort of mutant Eden or something, and you have no idea how  _good_  it feels to see these kids safe and happy like this.

Within a couple seconds they all start to look over to the doorway where I sit and then whisper among themselves about the Brotherhood member in their midst. Pretty soon  _everyone_  is looking at me- some with curiosity or surprise, but a couple have downright hostile expressions.

I try not to let that bother me. I mean, yeah, part of me wants to bare my fangs at them all just to remind them that staring is  _rude._  But I also know that I kinda deserve this, anyway.

"Come along," Charles murmurs.

He leads the way over to this sort of buffet line with low counters and starts quickly making up a plate. When I reach for one myself Hank snatches it out of my hands.

"I can fill my own plate, you know," I snap as he starts serving up these little portions of mashed potatoes and green beans.

"I don't trust you with this," Hank retorts. I guess I lost my decision-making privileges about food after the sandwich thing earlier, damn. "Your stomach-"

I lean back in the wheelchair and stick my lower lip out at him.

He sighs and puts two brownies on the plate meant for me. "Happy?"

Oh, he's the  _best._

I grin. "I love you, Hank," I tell him impulsively, which almost makes him drop the tray.

_Damn_  me and my big mouth.

What I meant to say was- actually, I don't even know what I meant to say. I just  _adore_  how incredibly sweet he is to me, I guess. No one has ever been this nice to me before, and even though normally I'd pitch a fit about someone babying me even a little bit, I don't really mind Hank taking care of me. There's just something about him...

"This way," Charles orders once we reach him, and he leads us over to an empty table.

Hank situates the wheelchair so I'm between him and the Professor on the end. He looks really reluctant to sit here for some reason. What, is this table reserved or something?

I raise my eyebrows at him, but he just shakes his head.

It becomes pretty obvious what's wrong with him when a couple of the X-Men- Jean, Cyclops, and Storm- enter the room and see us here. Storm immediately looks like she just stepped in dog shit. Great.

After they get their food I covertly watch them through my eyelashes as they argue over where they're going to sit.

_This is their table,_  I realize then. _Aw, man._

Why the hell is the Professor doing this? Does he really think we're going to go all Pilgrims and Indians and peacefully share a meal? Yeah, ok.

Actually, I bet he's hoping that if I get to know these guys we won't be able to fight each other in the field anymore. I suppose it worked with Hank, though, so maybe Charles has a point even though he doesn't know about that.

Crap.

I can feel Hank tensing up next to me, I'm guessing because he's already preparing for some sort of conflict. I lay a reassuring hand on his arm. "You need to relax," I murmur, grinning wryly. I don't want him to panic on my account. "I usually have this effect on people."

"But-"

"But nothing," I interject. "I'm actually a little relieved. What would I do with myself if all of the X-Men were as saintly as you and the Professor?"

Fighting them is hard enough when I know we're pretty much on the same side. If they all turned out to be angels I'd seriously be fucked.

He looks confused, but there's no time for him to ask any questions. The three X-Men are headed our way.

"Hello," Jean says tentatively when they reach us. When all of us reply she takes a deep breath and sits directly across from me.

Cyclops just kinda nods nonchalantly, but Storm still looks pissed.

Oh well, not my problem.

I go back to eating and ignore how awkward the silence is. Poor Hank looks like he's given up on enjoying his meal.

_Hmm. I wonder if I can get him to cough up his brownie, too?_

"Did you all enjoy your weekend?" Charles offers.

Cyclops nods- Jesus, does he  _ever_  talk?- but Jean picks up the slack.

"Y-yes," she replies. "Scott and I went into town earlier. There's a-"

"Does  _she_  really need to be in here?" Storm blurts out suddenly. She's glaring at me but I'm sure as hell not going to rise to that bait. I'm a tad bit outnumbered. "Why can't we just bring her her food like last night?"

_Yeah, Charles, why?_  I think to myself sarcastically.  _Were you hoping we could all just get along?_

Jesus, I can see where Hank gets the crazy optimism from.

The Professor frowns. "Vixen is our guest, and since she's been feeling better I thought it best that she join us," he explains.

"But she shouldn't be out where the kids are, Professor," Storm argues. "She could, I don't know-"

Alright, that's enough. It's not like I've  _done_  anything, you know? Or  _could_  do anything, with Charles and a bunch of X-Men right here. Obviously.

"Eat them?" I suggest sarcastically. "Tell them lies and get them to join the Brotherhood? Maybe you  _should_  be a little worried- I mean, I'm not that good at persuasion, but I've  _always_  found children to be delicious."

Hank snorts, but everyone else- Charles included- just sorta stares at me in shock.

Ok, clearly humor is lost on these folks.

"Oh my God, people," I sigh. "Joking. That was a  _joke._  Look, I get that you don't trust me. I wouldn't trust me either, if I were you. But your Professor X invited me to sit in here. So I promise I'll behave if you will."

Storm scowls at me, but I just smile right back at her and go back to eating.

_Look at me taking the high road, Hank. I_  earned _that damn brownie._


	36. Normality Is a Paved Road

**Normality Is a Paved Road**

The rest of dinner is spent in awkward silence, occasionally broken by even  _more_  awkward conversation that dies pretty quick.

Once I chow down on my brownies I nudge Hank, who rolls his eyes and gives me his. That saves me the trouble of having to steal it, at least.

"Well thanks for the sparkling conversation, folks," I say brightly when I'm done. Sarcasm much? "Excuse me, Professor, I'm going to just head back to the infirmary, ok?"

Charles nods painfully. He looks kinda disappointed- I'm guessing it's because we aren't all singing  _Kumbaya_  and hugging it out or some shit.

Again, I've gotta wonder why he's doing all of this. Does he want me to ditch the Brotherhood or something? To fall for all the glitz and glamour of his mansion and fancy library and want to stay here?

The weird niceness he's treated me with so far and the probing questions this morning suddenly make a lot of sense. The Professor wants to steal a Brotherhood member from right under Magneto's nose, the sneaky bastard.

_That's not exactly a realistic plan, Chuck._

Because let's face it: while Jean seems to not mind me and Hank obviously doesn't either, the rest of the X-Men pretty much hate my guts. They don't want me here, that's crystal clear. Add that to the fact that my brothers are still part of the Brotherhood, and it'll be a cold day in hell before I could stay here for good.

For some reason that kinda hurts a little. Maybe because... because deep down part of me wishes I  _could?_

God, I'm an idiot.

Before I can start to push myself away from the table Hank jumps up to help me. "Excuse me," he murmurs to the others, even though he's barely even touched his food.

"You didn't have to leave with me," I mutter once we're outside.

"I know," he replies. "But I wanted to."

I start to smile, but before I get too flattered a really sad thought hits me. "You're not afraid I'm about to up and kick the bucket at any moment still, are you?" I ask, turning slightly so I could see his face.

Is  _that_  the only reason he's spending so much time with me?

"No, I think you're out of the woods at this point. Now it's more about making sure you don't overdo it while you're recovering," Hank replies. "I have a feeling you'll have a very difficult time with that. You need constant supervision."

That reasoning isn't exactly encouraging, but there's something in his eyes that tells me there's more to it than that. He just can't say it aloud, for obvious reasons.

I smile. "It's almost like you know me or something."

He grins back. "Almost."

"I'm glad you didn't take what I said the wrong way," I tell him as he starts to push me back to the infirmary. "I don't really eat kids. There's not enough meat on their bones. Like chicken wings."

Hank bursts into laughter.

God, I love it when he laughs. And I mean  _really_  laughs, instead of those reserved chuckles he usually does, like he's self-conscious of showing his own amusement. I guess I like to see my Beastie Boy let it out.

"Storm started it," he muses once he finally stops. "I thought you did well to diffuse the situation with humor."

I snort. "It seemed like you were the only one who thought it was funny," I mutter. "Who knew being such a goody two-shoes means you can't have a sense of humor? Is that a prerequisite for being an X-Man, or do you just lose it over time?"

"Hey-" he says.

I giggle, because he's really only proving my point for me, you know? And because he realizes it, after a second Hank starts to smile too.

We've reached the infirmary at this point, and Hank helps me into bed even though we both know damn well that I can do it myself.

But I don't mind.

So much between us that has to stay unsaid. A touch, a smile- this is the way we tell each other how we feel.

I say "we," because I'm pretty sure Hank likes me. As in  _like_  likes me. I know I'm not the most perceptive girl out there, but I can't really think of any other explanation for why such a reserved, awkward man would find so many excuses to touch me and go out of his way to spend a lot of time with me. But you won't catch me complaining about that.

Because there's how I feel about him, of course.

Without all the Brotherhood and X-Men crap in the way, being around Hank is as simple as breathing. It's easy to just be...  _happy._  To let him make me happy. I feel  _comfortable_  around him in a way I've only felt once before, when I was young and my parents were still alive. But then at the same time he makes me all excited and fluttery inside, too.

So even though I know I  _really_  shouldn't, I want to be as close as I can to him while I can get away with it. I just can't help myself, dammit.

Instead of having Hank sit down in the chair he used last night I smile and pull him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He settles down close enough that my legs are touching his thigh with this pleased look in his eyes.

It's perfect. Or as perfect as it can be with me still being a gimp and all.

Despite that, I have to admit that I've been enjoying myself so far while I've been here. Even with how I got squished by a building and having most of the X-Geeks be (understandably) hostile towards me since I got to the mansion. Between Hank and the library, though... it's going to be  _so_  hard to leave this little time out from reality. I honestly don't even want to think about it.

"Do you have a music room here?" I ask curiously. After seeing the library and the dining room I'm dying to find out what sort of high-class set up they have here for a music room.

Just to check it out, right? There's no harm in that, is there?

"Yes," Hank replies. "Why?"

"I'd like to see it, if that's ok," I tell him casually. I don't want to seem over-eager or anything.

He grins suddenly- and dammit, it's  _so_  cute when he smiles like that, all goofy and adorable. "Music," he announces. "Your favorite thing to do, second only to reading. But more than you like beating up X-Men. It's not as relaxing."

It takes me a second to realize what the hell he's talking about, but then I remember what I told him in response to his snide remark as I was unlocking his chains back at Alkali Lake. I told him that reading is my favorite thing to do, and beating up X-Men is the third.

Looks like he just guessed the second.

"You remember that?" I ask, laughing in surprise.

"Of course."

Don't ask me why, but I think that's sorta flattering. That Hank thinks what I say is worth remembering, you know?

"I heard you sing to your brother that one time," he says, his face turning pink. "Y-your voice is beautiful."

The compliment makes me kinda shy all the sudden-  _definitely_  not something I'm used to feeling. But after today I guess I should be kinda used to Hank making me feel all these unfamiliar things. "Thank you," I murmur, smiling a little to cover the butterflies in my stomach.

"I'll show you the music room tomorrow," Hank assures me eagerly.

I smile gleefully. "Thank you."

On a whim I sit up all the way and kiss him on the cheek, even though it hurts a little as I lay back against the angled bed. My ribs are nowhere near as bad as this morning, but they're still pretty tender.

"Are you ok?" he asks anxiously.

"I'm fine, you big worrywart," I tell him. "Just sore, is all. I have a feeling I have your blood to thank for that, all things considered."

I definitely wouldn't have healed to this point so quickly without Hank using himself as a donor for the blood transfusion he gave me. Hell, I probably wouldn't have even  _survived_  until now without his super blood.

Hank shrugs, like it isn't  _amazing_  that he can heal so damn fast. I mean, I'm actually really jealous- I wish  _my_  healing factor was that strong. I'd never have to worry about falling buildings and bullets again, right?

"Do you ever... do you ever wish you weren't a feral?" Hank asks suddenly.

I raise my eyebrows, because to me that kinda came out of left field. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the instincts, the physical aspects of your mutation- do you ever wish you didn't have that?"

What a weird question. I've always considered my instincts- and my abilities- to be so much a part of myself that it's almost like he's asking if I like being  _me._ I mean, would it be nice to walk down the street without having to hide what I am? Yeah, that would be fantastic. Perpetual hat-hair  _sucks,_  man.

But that doesn't mean I go around wishing I could be something that I'm not all the time.

Does  _he?_

"Sometimes, I suppose," I say finally. "But not too often. Honestly, I think it's mostly worth it. Being able to run so fast it feels like I'm flying, being able to see and hear and smell  _everything_  so strongly- I'm pretty sure human perceptions would be dull in comparison. I'd much rather be this way."

The thoughtful look on Hank's face clues me in on what he's thinking. I guess me mentioning his super healing blood made him feel all broody about being a feral and stuff.

I suppose a nerdy scientist wouldn't be too happy with having a bunch of animal instincts suddenly pop up on him, would he? I was born this way, so I'm used to it. But Hank... Hank kinda had everything that comes with being a feral dropped on him all at once when his serum went wrong.

The poor guy.

I think he's doing  _really_  well, all things considered, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised if he struggles with it still. And it's pretty clear he does, if his pained expression right now is anything to go by.

And then there's the whole  _hiding-behind-a-human-mask_  thing, too. Big clue right there, obviously.

"I guess I don't have to ask you the same question," I murmur. "It's pretty obvious."

He nods uneasily, staring at the bed. He's avoiding my eyes on purpose. "Sometimes I wonder if I'd be more at peace with it if I'd been born that way," he muses wistfully. "Like you were."

"Oh, I doubt that," I retort. I'm not trying to be mean, just  _honest._  "Considering your issues with your feet in the first place."

"Fair point," Hank agrees with a sigh. "I... I've always just wanted to be-"

"Normal. But that's  _boring,_  Hank," I tell him earnestly.  _"'Normality is a paved road. It's comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it.'"_

He frowns. "I'm not sure quoting a man who cut off his own ear is helping your case," he says dryly.

Ok, how many people would immediately know that was something van Gogh said? Most of the time everyone just stares at me blankly when I throw around random quotations like that, but not Hank. God, he's  _perfect._

Now I just wish I could make  _him_  see that.

_Yeah, good luck with that, Babineaux. You still might as well try, though._

I roll my eyes at myself. "You're missing the point," I say impatiently, sitting up again. I reach out and gently take his face between my hands, ignoring the little thrill I get from touching him like this. "The person you are is based quite a bit on your experiences. Your feet, your second form- they've shaped the person you've become, the person you are. And you _,_  Hank, are exceptional in too many ways for me to even count. Why would you want to be anyone but who you are?"

"Y-you really think that?" Hank whispers, with this vulnerable look in his big blue eyes that just makes me want to go beat the shit out of  _anyone_  who's ever made him feel ashamed of himself in the past.

But because I'm  _me_  I've gotta try to make a joke out of it, you know?

I grin mischievously and shake my head in disbelief. "No, I'm lying to you," I tell him sarcastically. I lean in and kiss him on the cheek again. "God, you are such a clueless dork sometimes."

_And I think... I think I'm falling for you in a big way._


	37. If Only...

**If Only...**

"I should probably get to bed," Hank says eventually. "It's almost midnight."

It's hard to hide my disappointment, but I manage it somehow. After all, it wouldn't be right to ask Hank to stay in here with me again tonight when he has to sleep in such an uncomfortable position to do so. No matter how much I wish otherwise.

"Ok," I agree.

Before he leaves Hank waits patiently for me to go through the whole song-and-dance in the bathroom again- which thankfully doesn't take  _nearly_  as long as it did before- so he's available to re-wrap my ribs after I shower.

"How do you feel?" he asks seriously, kneeling in front of me while I hold my nightie up for him. "Does it still hurt to breathe?"

I shrug. "A little," I admit. I take a deep, experimental inhale to demonstrate. "But not nearly as bad. I actually don't think you need to wrap me again."

Hank frowns, but after examining my bruises closely for a moment he reluctantly nods. "I don't want you to move while I'm gone unless it's to the bathroom and back, ok?" he tells me, rising to his feet.

"Ok."

"Promise?"

I roll my eyes and smile at his concern. Normally I'd be annoyed at the hovering, but with Hank it just comes across as sweet somehow. "I promise."

He waits for me to get settled into bed before finally excusing himself. "Good night, Vivien," he murmurs. After a moment's hesitation he reaches out and squeezes my hand.

You have no idea how hard it is not to yank him down and kiss him. How difficult it's been not to do that  _all evening_.

"Good night, Hank," I reply instead.

And he gives me one more cute little smile before he leaves me alone.

_Parting is such sweet sorrow/ That I shall say good night till it be tomorrow_ , I think to myself with a sigh.

* * *

October 28, 1974

I'm dressed and sitting in bed waiting for Hank by the time he arrives in the morning because I didn't want him to catch me looking like death-warmed-over again. I've got  _some_  pride, after all. I'm just trying to save what's left of it.

"Good morning," he says as he comes over, an adorable grin on his face.

"'Morning," I reply, smiling like an idiot right back at him.

"How are you feeling?" Hank asks when he gets to the bed. He reaches out and gently touches my ribs. "Sore?"

I shrug. "A little. Mostly hungry, though," I hint. "When's breakfast?"

"Right now."

He offers me his hand, which I of course take immediately.

But then he tries to pull up the wheelchair.

"I don't need that anymore," I tell him, backing away.

I'm not one hundred percent by any stretch, but my ego can't handle feeling like an invalid anymore. That means no more wheelchair for me, God dammit.

"Vivien-"

"No."

"You're not even wearing shoes," Hank protests.

"And?" I retort. "It's a  _house._  It's not like there's broken glass and hot coals all over the floor."

He gives me this pleading look, but I somehow manage to stare him down. Him  _and_  his cheating puppy-dog eyes, the bastard.

"Fine," he sighs in exasperation. "But  _please_  don't push yourself."

"Ok," I agree, because I can live with that sort of request if it means I win this little showdown. To reward his reasonableness I stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek again. "Thank you, Hank."

His face turns a little pink, but he also looks pleased. "Shall we?"

I can't help limping a little on our way to the cafeteria. I'm pretty sure Hank notices because he puts his hand on my waist a couple times and lets me lean into him, but he's smart enough not to comment.

Once we're in the dining hall I try to just keep my head down and ignore everybody as we walk over to the buffet line. I can feel them staring at me all over again, like I'm a bug in a jar or something. It makes me uncomfortable, even though I'm trying really hard not to show it.

Hank kinda pointedly hands me a bowl and nudges me towards the cereal assortment. I guess that means having a plate of bacon for breakfast isn't an option this morning. What a party pooper.

After making up a bowlful of cocoa puffs I pick up a chocolate chip muffin and give him a hopeful look.

He frowns.

"Oh, come on!" I cry out. "What's the difference between this and-?"

"Incoming," Hank murmurs suddenly, cutting me off. He nods towards someone behind me.

Feeling kinda startled, I turn around to see who it is.

Aw shit.

It's Evan, and he's making a beeline for me in full view of all of the X-Geeks. Talk about bad timing- this is going to raise all sorts of questions I wanted to avoid in the first place, dammit.

Still, I  _am_  glad to see he looks pretty happy here. So that's something, at least.

"Hello, Evan," I greet him cautiously.

"Hi, Vixen," he replies.

"What's up?"

"I-I just wanted to say 'thank you,' again, for helping me," he explains. "I'm really happy here, and it wouldn't have happened were it not for you."

Well damn. Spyke looks so completely sincere that I can't really be mad about him coming over here now, can I?

I give him a smile. "I'm glad to hear it. Just don't tell anyone else that I helped you, ok?" I ask, kinda pointedly glancing over at the X-Men's table.

He frowns in confusion. "But why? I thought, because you were here-"

"I'm just visiting," I explain. "A building fell on me, and the people here were kind enough to help me out."

"Oh," Spyke replies sheepishly. "My bad."

Which means he tattled on me. Crap, this is  _not_  good.

I think he realizes it too, if his expression is anything to go by. "Thank you," he says kinda helplessly, before hightailing it out of the dining hall.

_This is bad. What if this gets back to Magneto, somehow?_  I think to myself as I follow Hank over to a small table next to a window overlooking the mansion's extensive grounds.

It's got a perfectly manicured lawn, immaculately pruned shrubbery and gorgeous trees, of course. Like something out of a movie. Why am I not surprised that it's so beautiful?

Just like everything else here...

Jesus, what will I do if Magneto figures out I helped Evan? I guess I'll have to run away, go underground so he can't find me and murder my ass. I mean, it's not like I can-

"You could, you know," Hank says quietly. "Stay here, I mean."

No, sweetie, I can't. I don't even want to  _imagine_  what Magneto would do to this place if I hid away here and he found out what I did. It's too dangerous for everyone.

And besides-

I snort derisively. "Of course, because I've made  _such_  good friends here," I mutter sarcastically. I can see Havok coming towards our table with an angry expression. "Oh look, here comes one of my new best buddies right now."

"What's this about you helping Spyke escape from Magneto?" he demands, without any further ado. Damn, I wonder who spit in his Wheaties this morning?

"Good morning, Havok," I say. "I'm doing great, thanks for asking. How about you?"

He glares at me, but I keep my expression neutral.

"Well?" Havok snaps. "Did you or didn't you?"

"That's none of your business," I reply flatly, because I don't want to  _lie_  and prove myself to be untrustworthy. But I don't really want to tell the truth in this situation, either. This just sucks.

"I'd say it is," he retorts. "I want to know why our enemy is sending people to us. It makes me suspicious of-"

God dammit, this is exactly what I was afraid of. What the hell are they going to do to Evan now? He had a place here, he was happy, and now-

I stand up, which makes both Havok and Hank tense. "That man's done nothing wrong," I coldly tell my accuser. "Leave him alone."

I've got a bad feeling that this discussion is only going to get uglier than it already is if it keeps on, so I decide right then and there to make my exit. I've gotta keep taking the high road or I'll just make it worse for myself- and probably Evan, too.

So with my head held high I limp my gimpy ass out of the cafeteria. I'm kinda bummed that I didn't get to eat my cocoa puffs, but I totally stole that muffin while Hank wasn't looking. I eat it while I hobble along on auto-pilot, not really sure where I'm going.

But I guess it's not too much of a surprise that I end up in the library again, is it? The place I've felt the most comfortable since I got here, the place I've felt the most...  _at peace_  in who-even-knows-how-long.

God, if only I could know that Magneto wouldn't hurt anyone here because of me. If only I could get James and Myles to ditch the Brotherhood. If only I could somehow convince the X-Geeks to trust me...

_If only I could stay,_  I think to myself bitterly as I sit on the window seat with my knees tucked to my chin.  _Me and Hank could be-_

And then, as if on cue, I hear Hank approaching the doorway to the library. I know it's him without even looking just from the sound of his footsteps and how hearing them makes my heart unconsciously beat a little faster.

I guess it wasn't too hard to figure out where I went off to, was it? Not for  _him,_  anyway. He just knows me too well at this point.

"Found you," he murmurs, taking the seat next to me.

I scoff. "If I was trying to hide you'd never find me."

We're quiet for a minute- I guess neither of us really knows what to say after that little showdown with Havok and everything. Talk about awkward.

Now I feel pretty bad, actually, for ditching Hank like that and leaving him to deal with it. Definitely a dick move on my part.

"Sorry I walked out like that," I mutter. "I thought it would be better than getting into a nasty argument."

"I understand."

I sigh and finally look at Hank. "Please don't let them take it out on Evan, ok?" I plead. "He doesn't deserve any problems just because he got caught up in the Brotherhood's crap. I was really just trying to help him."

"They won't do anything," Hank assures me. "Don't worry."

Oh, come on. I seriously have my doubts about that. I mean surely Charles will  _at least_  check out Evan's thoughts now, right? And make sure he's truly not a spy or anything? Otherwise they're really risking too much with the kids here, you know?

"I believe I promised you a trip to the music room today," Hank comments suddenly.

That perks me right up, even though I know I shouldn't let it. Seeing another part of how amazing this place is will just make it that much harder to leave. But just like with spending all this time with Hank, I really can't stop myself from wanting it.

"You did," I agree.

"Come on, then," he says, rising to his feet. He takes my hand and helps me stand up. "This way."

It's gotta be time to get to class or something, because right now the halls are full of kids moving around with purpose. They're so focused that they don't even pay me any attention, thank God. I'm tired of feeling like I'm under a microscope. But this gives me a chance to kinda look around without feeling judged.

They all seem so...  _happy._

Or if not happy, at least content. Not at all what I expected for an early Monday morning about to be spent in class. But then, what would I know?

I've never actually been in a real school before, let alone a classroom. I managed to get my GED after my parents died, and since then I've been taking some correspondence courses and stuff. Nothing in a traditional scholastic setting, though.

Before that it was just me and my brothers getting home schooled. I probably don't need to tell you that academics weren't their strong suit- James and Myles bolted and skipped lessons as often as they could. So for me, learning has always been a pretty lonely experience.

Seeing all these kids makes me feel sorta jealous, to be honest. I wonder if they know how lucky they have it here? I mean, I wish  _I_  could've gone to a school with kids my own age, had a shot to make friends and all that. Maybe if I had I wouldn't be such a goddamn loner all the time.

I'm glad that these guys have that chance, though. I really am.

Hank, who let go of my hand when we stepped out of the library, now reaches for me again and gently pulls me forward. "Here we are," he says, gesturing towards a doorway.

I take a peak inside and-

_Aw man. What a letdown._


	38. The Music Room

**The Music Room**

The music room is pretty average-sized, with no windows and a low ceiling. Whoever picked this space had a good understanding of acoustics, yeah, but that's basically the only thing the room has going for it.

It's really dusty, like no one's been in here for ages. There's this sorta haphazard stack of guitar cases and some other instruments over on one side, and then no sound-proofing on the walls. Like this is a storage room they just threw a bunch of instruments in and then forgot about.

Well damn.

After seeing so many of the other rooms in the mansion I was expecting something  _a lot_  nicer than this. At least a room that was  _finished,_  you know? Not a glorified closet.

It's pretty much the  _definition_  of an anticlimax.

"We've never really had a music teacher," Hank explains apologetically. I guess he can see the dissatisfaction that I can't hide on my face. "So I never got around to finishing this room."

"What's the point of having it, then?" I ask, and I  _might_  sound a little snippy. I almost wish he'd told me they didn't have one when I asked about it, you know? Could've saved me the major disappointment.

"The kids like to come in here sometimes to goof off," Hank tells me. "And... maybe one day we'll get a teacher. Then I'll finish it."

I snort. "Or maybe you should finish it _first_ , and use that to lure a teacher in," I mutter. I can't really imagine how any self-respecting teacher would agree to work in here without knowing what the finished product looked like.

Out of an almost morbid curiosity I step closer to the dusty baby grand piano in the center of the space- is it even in tune, or is it in as bad a shape as the rest of this room?

The sad thing is that it's a really beautiful instrument, too. Like,  _way_  nicer than anything I've ever played. The fact that it's just sitting here, unused and dusty, is practically a  _crime._

Don't these people have any culture? Jeez.

I press a few of the keys and breathe a sigh of relief. "Still in tune."

"You play?" Hank asks.

I nod. "This and guitar, but that's about it."

He steps closer, so he's at my side again. "How'd you learn?"

"My dad," I reply quietly, taking a seat on the piano bench. "The human."

For a moment I stare blankly, remembering the way it seemed like my dad's strong, work-reddened hands almost flew across the keys when he played on our little upright.

It's getting harder and harder to picture it as the years go by. I'm afraid one day I won't even remember the sound of his velvety baritone voice or the look on my mom's face when he sang for her...

I swallow thickly.

My father was a sweet, gentle man who worked hard at the local mill to provide for us all. He was a logger by occupation, but if you asked him how he defined himself as a person, I bet he would've called himself a musician and a father first. The fact that he was the only human in a family full of mutants never seemed to bother him any. Actually, this whole obsession of a line between the species that his sons have started to spout would've been a foreign concept to him.

How many people do I know like that nowadays? People who don't give a shit who or what you are, as long as they can count on you as a friend? Marcel, Mr. Cole and my other buddies in Hell's Kitchen are pretty much the only ones I can think of. I definitely can't say the same of most of the mutants I know.

"You ever notice how a lot of mutants see themselves only through that prism?" I wonder aloud. "Like, being a mutant is the only way they can see themselves, because that's all that anyone  _else_  sees. Not musicians, or lovers or even friends. Just... mutants."

"You don't get that so much around here," Hank replies softly as he takes the seat next to me. "We want the kids to know that  _what_  they are is only a mere part of  _who_  they are."

I chuckle bitterly. "Must be a Brotherhood thing, then," I mutter. I reach out and skim my fingers across the keys without pressing down. "They're all too busy being 'mutant and proud' to really be anything else. God, I think it's been over a year now since I even  _touched_  a piano."

Ever since that terrible day when James and Myles broke my poor little piano...

"Maybe you should play something?"

My smile is a little anxious- my first time playing in forever, and I've got an audience, great. I really  _do_  want to play, though, so it's a risk I'm willing to take. "Only if you  _promise_  not to laugh if I'm terrible," I plead. God, I hope I don't suck. "It really has been a long time."

"I promise."

"Good. Now, just so we're clear- if you laugh, I'm going to punch you."

Hank swallows nervously. "Deal."

I take a deep breath and place my hands on the keys. "Alright, here goes."

And I start to play one of my favorite songs of all time, Pachelbel's Canon, from memory. I make it through the introduction fine, and then through the next few bars-

_Wait, that's the wrong part. Shit._

I hit a couple bad notes as I try to smoothly transition back into it, but then I psych myself out and my fingers suddenly lose their rhythm. I don't even remember how to go on.

In that instant it's like I've completely forgotten how to play.

"Dammit!" I whisper, shaking my head frantically.

No way. This can't be happening, it  _can't._

"Don't pressure yourself too much, Vivien," Hank murmurs soothingly. "You said it's been a while."

"You don't understand," I retort. Without even meaning to, I blurt out something I've never told  _anyone._  "Music is- it's the way I keep my dad alive for me. It's the  _one_  thing I can do that actually feels like it's a purely positive force in the world. Because even when I'm trying to help mutants I'm still hurting people, you know? But this... with this I feel like I can create something _good_ , rather than destroying things. Without it, what am I?"

Jesus, what an embarrassingly personal and- and  _private_  thing to admit out loud. Especially to  _him,_  you know?

To make my humiliation even worse I can feel tears stinging my eyes.

_You cut that shit out_ right now _, Babineaux,_  I scold myself.

"Vivien," Hank whispers.

He reaches out and wraps his arms around me, and I immediately stop tearing up and just  _melt_  into him. I can't really help it, dammit. There's just something so  _right_  about Hank holding me like this. I can't explain it any other way.

"Give yourself a moment and try again. I'm sure you haven't really forgotten how to play- you're just rusty is all," he assures me.

I sure as hell hope so.

For a minute I just let him hold me, leaning my head against his chest and breathing in his fresh, clean Hank smell while I calm down some more. I kinda want to keep sitting like this, but I also don't want to seem like some super clingy crazy woman.

"Ok," I say, pulling away and smoothing my dress. I close my eyes. "Ok, let's try this again."

This time I decide to play one of  _my_  songs, and it goes about a million times better than before. I think it's because the songs I write are so much a part of me that I don't have to really think about playing them, no matter how long it's been. The music just flows out naturally from my fingertips.

And so do the words. For the first time in a good long while, I start to sing:

_"When the sun came up/ We were sleeping in/ Sunk inside our blankets/ Sprawled across the bed/ And we were dreaming-"_

I'm surprised to find that it doesn't feel awkward to perform in front of Hank like this. I kinda expected it to, since for me music is a really intimate thing in the first place and an audience of one is sometimes more stressful than a room full of people, if that makes any sense.

Instead I grow more confident under his watching eyes, hearing his encouraging words.

"You're amazing," he tells me, and it's pretty obvious from his admiring expression that he means it. "Truly, Vivien. You're very talented."

My face gets a little hot hearing such sincere praise.

Don't judge me, alright? I'm just as much of a sucker for compliments as the next girl, ok?

"Want me to teach you some?" I ask after a while.

Hank shakes his head. "No, thank you," he replies quickly. "I'm about as musical as a tone deaf rock."

I laugh. "What kind of rocks  _aren't_  tone deaf, Hank?" I tease.

He chuckles sheepishly. "Just trust me," he insists. "Don't waste your time. I'd much rather listen to you. Your voice is... I honestly think I could listen to you all day."

Again, I feel myself blushing. Because even if he's exaggerating (something that I don't think he does all that often, anyway) I'm still really flattered, you know?

Jesus, it's like he's turning me into a real girl or something.

"Why, thank you," I say coyly, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

I can't help giggling when he flushes, too.

* * *

Eventually Hank says he's getting hungry. "How about you?" he asks. "You only had that muffin you stole for breakfast, didn't you?"

I nod uneasily, remembering the surly blonde reason I had to skip out on breakfast. I really don't want to go back in there and deal with the hostile stares and comments again. And what if one of the X-Men tries to confront me like Storm and Havok did already? Ugh.

"I'll go get us something and bring it back," Hank assures me, "like yesterday."

"Thank you," I tell him gratefully.

He winces in sympathy- I'm guessing because he understand how bad this sucks for me. I've been doing my best not to bother anyone, but the others keep trying to pick fights. It's just not fair.

But it's also understandable, isn't it? I'm a Brotherhood member on their turf, after all. They've got every reason to be mistrustful.

And then Hank, Hank's been caught in the middle this whole time. His teammates on one side, and his friend (I don't think I'm being too flattering if I call myself that, at least) on the other. The poor guy.

"I'll be right back," he says, standing up and heading for the door.

"Hey, Hank?" I blurt out.

He turns to look at me. "Yes?"

_I'm sorry it has to be like this, baby,_  I want to say.  _I really am._

But instead I swallow and grin cheekily at him. "Make sure you get me something chocolate."

"I'll consider it," Hank replies. His chuckles give me butterflies again.

I sigh and roll my eyes at myself after he steps out.  _You've got it for him_  so _bad, Babineaux. What are you going to do?_

The truth is, I don't know.

I know I'm falling for him,  _hard._ I mean, how can I  _not?_  Hank is everything I could ever want in a guy- sweet, funny, smart, and sexy as fuck. And even though that  _scares_  the living shit out of me, I really can't stop these feelings.

These feelings all started at Alkali Lake, and now they're only getting deeper as I spend more time with him. And God damn, it's so easy, so  _natural_  to feel this way about Hank.

I guess maybe that's why they call it  _falling_  in love, right? It takes a whole lot of effort to stay upright, and none at all to let yourself go.

Jesus Christ, I'm an idiot.

For the past few minutes while musing about my Hank problem I've been absently tapping on the piano keys. Nothing in particular at first, really.

But now it comes to me, already completely formed and perfect.

It's this wistful, plaintive melody that I can channel all of my feelings for Hank into- the lyrics are already there in my head and everything. Judging from how complete it is I have a funny feeling that this has been lurking somewhere inside me for a while, just waiting for me to have an opportunity to play it. Music is like that for me sometimes.

_"It's obvious you're meant for me/ Every piece of you, it just fits perfectly/ Every second, every thought, I'm in so deep/ But I'll never show it on my face/ But we know this, we got a love that is homeless-"_

I'm so absorbed that it takes me a minute to realize I have an audience again, watching me from the doorway.

And this time it's not Hank.

_Uh oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits to Straylight Run for "Existentialism on Prom Night" and Little Mix for "Secret Love Song, Part II."


	39. Wistful Dreaming or Calculated Ploy?

**Wistful Dreaming or Calculated Ploy?**

Jean, along with four of the younger mutant kids, is currently standing in the doorway watching me. The older girl looks kinda embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping, but the children just seem curious.

"H-hi," I offer awkwardly, once I recover from my surprise.

"H-hi," Jean replies. "I'm sorry- we were just going to one of the play rooms. We- we didn't mean to interrupt. Come on, guys-"

She attempts to shepherd the kids out of the room, but one of the little girls doesn't budge.

"Who are you?" she asks me, in that blunt, brazen way children sometimes have.

I hesitate for a second- I don't know if I'm really allowed to talk to the kids here and stuff, for obvious reasons. But I decide after a moment's thought that it would be better to be polite instead. Even if I  _am_  a member of the Brotherhood, as an adult I have a duty to be a good example.

"I'm Vivien," I explain. "What's your name?"

"Marie," the girl replies. She comes closer, watching me with something akin to fascination. "Your voice is pretty."

"Um, thank you."

"Can you teach me to sing, too?"

"Uh-"

"Me, too?" a little boy pipes in.

"And me?"

"And me!"

I give Jean a helpless look, and her expression pretty much mirrors mine. Well shit.

"Sure. Why not?" I agree weakly. I mean, what else can I do? They're all looking at me so hopeful and innocent, I  _can't_  just tell them "no" and stomp out that eager light in their eyes. "Come here, kiddos."

Marie and the other kids- who she introduces as Donny, Connor, and Abby- gather around me at the piano enthusiastically, with Jean reluctantly trailing behind them.

"Jean, do you want to learn as well?" I ask politely.

The redheaded girl shakes her head. "I can't sing," she admits. "But-"

She nods towards the guitar I leaned up against the piano bench earlier, while Hank was still in here.

"Do you play?"

"Yeah."

"C-could you-?"

"Yeah, of course," I assure her.

She smiles at me- a genuine, friendly smile- that I can't help returning. It only takes a minute to set her up with a guitar next to me and show her the first chord to practice, getting her to mimic my fingers' position on the frets.

Then I turn to the children. "Alright, guys," I say. Don't ask me why, but for some reason I'm not nervous at all. "Try to sing with me now, ok?  _Do, re, me-_ "

I lead them through the scales I tap out on the piano keys a few times, long enough for me to listen for some issues to address. I'm not surprised that they're all singing from their throats- pretty much everyone does it, at first. I know I totally did until my dad taught me not to.

"That's great, guys," I tell them encouragingly. "But you're singing from up here-"

I point to my throat.

"I want you to try from down here," I explain, pointing to my chest. The way my dad did, a lifetime ago. "When you sing, you sing from your heart. That way you can project without hurting your voice, ok?"

I turn towards Jean.

"And Jean- give me a G chord now. Like this-"

I position my fingers on my guitar as an example and then help the other girl do the same.

"That's G," I tell her. "Give it a try."

Jean tentatively starts to strum out a decent G chord.

"There you go," I say brightly.

Then, as I'm turning back towards the children, I realize that I've got yet  _another_  audience. Havok and Hank are standing behind Professor X's wheelchair, watching us from the doorway.

The smile drops off my face faster than a dead horse keels over.

Oh, fuck. I'm in deep shit now, aren't I?

Of course I am. I'm a Brotherhood member, after all. It's just common fucking sense to keep me away from the kids, you know? Just in case I turn out to be some sort of crazy deviant or something. Crap, the Professor's probably really mad at me for repaying his kindness like this-

"Don't let us interrupt," Charles says gently. "Please, continue."

Ok, I definitely wasn't expecting  _that._ Is he shitting me right now?

I glance at Hank uncertainly, trying to pick up a clue. Maybe the Professor wants to avoid a scene in front of the kids right now and is waiting to chew me out later.

But Hank just nods and gives me a reassuring smile.

Alright then...

With that encouragement I grin tentatively and turn back to the kids, who are all waiting impatiently for us to continue. "Ok, let's go again," I tell them. "And remember, from the heart."

* * *

The next twenty minutes or so fly by for me because I'm just having too much fun with these kids. But then a bell rings to ruin it and they all have to head back to class.

"Thank you, Ms. Vivien," Abby says shyly on her way out.

"You're welcome," I reply with a smile.

"Thanks," Jean adds tentatively. "That was really cool. I-I'll see you later."

Havok looks grumpy about the whole situation, but thankfully he doesn't go off on me or anything before he leaves, too. I guess he realizes that I didn't mean any harm in all this.

That leaves Charles, Hank and me still here in the music _-closet._

"Lunch?" Hank offers, gesturing to the tray of food in front of him. He's sitting at the small conference table set against the room's far wall.

"Yes, please," I reply gratefully. I limp my way over to join him because I'm suddenly starving.

Charles follows me. "Well that was  _interesting,"_  he comments. "The children certainly seemed to enjoy learning from you."

On one hand I'm glad someone else thinks so, too, just because it sorta confirms my own opinion on the situation. The children  _did_  seem to like learning from me, I could tell. Were they naturally enthusiastic about music or did my teaching have anything to do with it? Maybe a little of both? I mean, they certainly seemed to like  _me,_  and I sure as hell liked  _them._

But that doesn't really matter, does it? Because I'm still going to have to leave soon.

I shrug unhelpfully and stare down at my plate rather than looking at either of the men next to me. Now that the kids are gone I'm actually starting to feel pretty bummed out about the whole thing. If only I didn't have to go...

"What'd you think, Hank?" Charles asks.

"It seemed like everyone was having fun," Hank replies diplomatically. "Including you, Vivien. You really have a knack for teaching."

I glower at him for a moment.

_Fuck you, Hank. Don't you realize how much harder this makes it for me?_  All _of this?_

Because when I was younger- back before I realized that I was  _different_  from other little kids, and that's why I had to be kept away from them- I had this vague ambition of being a teacher of some kind. A wonderful teacher like Miss Temple or Miss Stacey, one who was loved by all of her students, big and small.

That dream got kicked in the face pretty quick as I got older and wiser. Fat chance people would want an  _obvious_  mutant like me teaching their kids, right?

And then let's face it- I'm not exactly role-model material by  _anyone's_  standards, am I? I don't even have a real high school diploma, for crying out loud.

Knowing now that I somehow have a "knack" for teaching, as Hank puts it, just makes the thought of what-could-have-been even more painful.

Now Hank grins charmingly and holds up the brownie he'd been keeping on his plate as a peace-offering. "Brownie?"

A man who knows the way into my heart. You can't go wrong with anything chocolate.

I try not to smile. "Thanks."

"Perhaps it's time we finished this room," Charles suddenly says. The meaning behind the suggestion is pretty damn clear: so  _I_  could teach in here.

Just leave my brothers behind and move in here, no problem. The Brotherhood would lose a member, and the X-Men would gain an even bigger edge on them. That would work out perfectly for the Professor, wouldn't it?

See, this is why I don't trust people. I keep wanting to be proven wrong, but nope. Even Saint Xavier himself has some ulterior motives to all his kindness, trying to lure a soldier away from Magneto and the Brotherhood.

I have to wonder, do I even matter to  _either_  of these bastards as anything more than just a pawn in their little game? I highly doubt it.

A horrifying thought occurs to me then, freezing me in place.

_Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Is Hank in on this, too?_

Because while I'm pretty contemptuous of Xavier's obvious ploy, I also understand it in a way, tactically speaking. But Hank... if he's been spending all this time with me as part of some  _plan,_  instead of because he actually  _cares_  about me- God, that would break my heart. As cheesy as that sounds, there's no other way to put it.

I am  _not_  ok with being emotionally manipulated. I mean, that's how I got stuck in the Brotherhood in the fucking first place. Never again.

Hank shifts his weight uncomfortably, almost like he's reacting to my stress. When I glance over at him through my eyelashes I see him frowning at Charles. The telepath gives him a tiny nod and looks slightly sheepish.

Well that's  _really_  fucking irritating. Seriously, I'm  _right here_  and you guys are having a silent conversation, like I'm not going to notice? Come on.

"So much to do, still," Charles sighs. "Since we've only reopened so recently. Hank- it's been two years, yes?"

"Not quite, no."

"Yes, of course," Xavier agrees. "And we've been so busy getting the core subjects covered that I'm afraid we're lacking in a little culture here. But we'll get there eventually, I'm sure of it."

I relax somewhat.

Sounds like Hank just mentally told the Professor to back off of me. That has to mean he's on my side, right? That he genuinely cares about me, and understands my predicament here? It  _has_  to.

For his sake, I keep it civil. "When you put it like that the way this room looks is sorta forgivable," I comment, smiling wryly. "At least the instruments are in tune."

"How charitable of you," Hank says sarcastically, to which I laugh.

And Charles changes the subject, thank the Lord, by talking about how the piano in this room came from Germany or some shit.

Even though he behaves himself after that earlier mishap I'm still  _really_  glad that he doesn't stay too long after Hank and I finish eating.

I don't like him watching us, not one bit, because it makes me think of his master plan to undermine the Brotherhood all over again and that just pisses me off. I know that my feelings for Hank are playing right into the Professor's hands, but it's not like I can just make them go away- or even  _hide_  them all that well- at this point.

And it's not just me, either.

Does Charles notice how Hank's eyes seem to light up when he looks at me now? How much more he laughs and smiles when he's around me? Or is that all just my imagination?

Judging from the thoughtfulness in Charles' expression whenever he looks at Hank chuckling I kinda doubt it. Great, just great.

"I was thinking about making up some guitar chord charts for Marvel Girl," I announce eventually. "So if she wants to learn more she's got them handy, you know?"

"I think she would appreciate that," the Professor agrees, smiling genially. "Hank, could you-?"

Hank nods, and after getting up and doing a little digging around he manages to find some paper and a pencil for me.

I roll my eyes as he sits back down next to me. "What are you, his butler?"

Both men's expressions kinda freeze up for a moment, like there's some sort of shared pain between them that my words brought to the surface.

Then I remember that while we were talking last night Hank sorta hinted that for a while there he was Charles' primary caregiver. A friend, yeah, but also basically a butler. It didn't sound like a very happy time for either of them, and I guess in a way I just made them both think of it again.

Oops.

"Or are you mine?" I tease, trying to save the moment.

Hank relaxes. "I'm yours," he replies, giving me this impossibly cute grin.

_"I'm yours." Jesus, don't I wish, baby,_ I think to myself.

"Well I suppose I'll leave you to that, then," Charles says now, maneuvering his chair away from the conference table. "I'll see you both at dinner?"

I nod politely along with Hank, but in my own head I'm thinking of all the places I'd rather be than having dinner with the X-Geeks again. The dentist, maybe. Or even the gynecologist.

Still, it's a big relief once the Professor's out of the room.

_Alone again at last._


	40. Maybe...

**Maybe...**

"Almost done," I mutter after several minutes. "Sorry if I'm boring you."

I've been concentrating so hard on making the guitar chord charts for Jean that for a little bit I forgot Hank was still sitting next to me. But here he is, patiently waiting for me to finish.

"You're not," he assures me. "I enjoy watching you like this."

I glance over at him just in time to see him wince. Like he realizes how weird that might sound out loud, as if he's some sort of creeper.

Not to me, though. Like with yesterday in the library, I don't really mind feeling Hank's gaze on me. To be honest, I'm secretly  _glad_  that he says he enjoys looking at me. I'm flattered, even though I know I shouldn't be.

So to put him more at ease I snort and lean my head against my arm, propped on the table. "Like what?" I tease, grinning mischievously.

I meant to make it a light-hearted moment, but to my surprise Hank's expression becomes rather wistful.

He seems to be holding his breath as he reaches out and gently brushes the bangs away from my eyes. Then his fingers tentatively go on to stroke my cheek.

"Happy," he murmurs, tenderly cupping my face with his hand. "I enjoy seeing you happy."

Aw, man.

This is bad. So very bad.

Because no matter how many times I tell myself that I'm going to have to leave, that this will end up only hurting us both, it still feels  _right_  for Hank to touch me, to close my eyes and lean into his hand right now.

I asked Hank not to speak to me anymore before I was injured and came here, so this connection between us would eventually fade and stop hurting him. But now...

What if cutting ourselves off from each other causes him even  _more_  pain? Is it just too late to avoid now? Fuck, this has gotten complicated.

"We've been doing a horrible job of not talking to each other, you know," I say quietly, opening my eyes.

Hank flinches and immediately pulls his hand back, like my skin burned him or something. God, the wounded expression on his face just about kills me. I mean, it's worse than kicking a puppy, for Christ's sake.

"I-is that  _really_  what you want?" he asks. "For us not to speak to each other anymore?"

I quickly look away because I can't take the pain in his eyes.

_Would_  it be better for him if we didn't talk anymore? At this point I don't even know.

"Vivien, please don't-" Hank whispers imploringly, taking my hands in his.

When I look up it takes less than a second for his big blue eyes to make me feel all weak and gooey inside. One look, that's all it takes with him. Am I sucker or what?

I let out a sigh of defeat. "No, I don't want that," I admit reluctantly.

Hank relaxes so obviously that it's actually kinda funny. It's pretty clear that he doesn't want us to stop talking, either. But what can we do? I can't stay here, and if we don't want to let each other go...

I can't help chuckling bitterly at us and our impossible predicament.

"What?" he demands, sorta defensive.

"Nothing," I assure him. I sigh and reach over to run my fingers along his cheek while the truth spills out of me. "It's just... I don't know what it is about you, but whenever I look you in the eyes, I melt. I feel like I'm falling apart but at the same time completely whole, for the first time in my life."

I can't  _believe_  I just fucking admitted that. True or not, it's still scary to be this vulnerable to another person, you know? To give them the power to hurt you worse than any physical wound ever could.

Too late now, though.

Hank's breathing catches a bit. "I... I feel the same way," he says softly, with this sweet, wistful yearning expression on his face. He looks just as scared as I am to admit these feelings out loud.

But we both feel them all the same.

Neither of us can deny this connection that we've been trying to fight for so long anymore, but where do we go from here? Can we bridge the divide between us somehow? What with the X-Men and the Brotherhood and James and Myles- Jesus, how could we  _ever_  make this work?

Dear Lord, this is impossible.

_It's only impossible if you believe it is,_  this little voice deep inside me whispers.  _You don't have to fold just because life deals you a shitty hand, right?_

Right. Since when have I been a quitter? Since  _never,_  that's when.

And maybe I want to believe that with love,  _nothing_  is impossible. Maybe, together, we can figure something out and make this work between us.

Like Lord Byron says:  _"Love will find its way/ Through paths where wolves fear to prey."_

So in that case-

"Fuck it."

I close the distance between us and press my lips to his.

Hank responds immediately, like he was just  _waiting_  for some hint from me that he could give in, too. He reaches out and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me in until I slip off my chair and swing my legs over to straddle his lap.

It feels different to kiss Hank when he's like this, in his human form. His hair feels shorter when I run my claws through it, for one, and he obviously doesn't have any fangs. He definitely smells different, too.

But despite that I still get that same feeling as when we kissed before, like my whole soul's on fire and burning just for him. I realize now that it really doesn't matter what he looks like. He's still my Hank no matter what.

I purr and gently bite his lip while his hands drift up and under my dress. His fingers wander along my thighs, my back and beyond, leaving tingling skin wherever he touches.

God, I  _love_  that he's being that bold- I  _want_  him to touch me, to let  _me_  touch  _him._ I've been secretly dying for this for months, to finally be able to express the desire and longing for him that I've had to hold back and ignore for all this time.

A couple seconds later I vaguely hear a ripping sound just as Hank growls and slips his hands- which I can tell now have claws- under my thighs to lift me up onto the table. His kisses are suddenly much more demanding, even more fervent than before.

Oh  _hell_  yes. My Beastie Boy has come out to play.

I pull at his collar to encourage him forward as he lays me back, and he eagerly follows until his muscle-bound body covers mine. I can't even describe how damn  _perfectly_  we fit together. Like matching jigsaw pieces, or a lock and key.

Hank kisses me until I'm gasping for air (thanks  _a lot_ , broken ribs) and then leans down to kiss along my collarbone instead, like he just can't get enough of me. Every time his lips touch my skin it feels like an electric shock, but in the  _best_  kind of way.

"Well," I whisper breathlessly, looking up into his sunset eyes. They're practically glowing down at me out of his beautiful blue face right now. "I think you're officially 'worked up,' Hank."

He gives me a sheepish grin and leans down to nibble on my lip.

"Hmm." Cue pretty much every muscle below the waist inside me coiling like a spring.

"Yes, I am," Hank agrees shyly. "D-do you mind?"

God, it's so easy to love him. It  _would_  be easy to, I mean.

Him and his endearing, awkward sweetness and all the sensuality he hides within himself. He honestly appeals to me on every level. Loving him would be as simple as breathing.

"Would be  _easy?" Jesus. Who are you even kidding right now, Babineaux? You know you're already there, just admit it._

Alright, maybe I  _am._  Just a little.

I giggle and lace my claws through his hair. "Hell no," I assure him, pulling him down for another steamy kiss.

I know I should probably be worried about someone possibly walking in on us making out on a table like this, but I can't bring myself to really give a shit. I'm just too caught up in the moment right now, letting this exhilarating passion consume us both.

Can you really blame me?

The way Hank tenderly cradles my head as we kiss furiously makes me feel treasured, cherished-  _adored,_  even. But then at the same time there's something so carnal and earthy about the attraction between us, like every feral, animal instinct I have calls to the same in him.

I've never felt something like this before in my life, not even close.

And I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose  _him._

* * *

I don't know how long we stay like that, kissing like a pair of horny teens or something. But it's at least long enough for me to memorize the texture of his fur, the taste of his lips and the sound of the low growls he makes as he presses into the cradle of my thighs. They match the little purring noises I can't stop myself from making, forming our own private harmony.

Eventually Hank breaks away from my mouth to lay another trail of hot kisses along my neck that has me arching into him and moaning with pleasure.

But then his fangs accidentally graze against the space right below my ear, almost breaking the skin.

Almost marking me and claiming me as his mate,  _forever._

Yikes-

Without any prompting from me Hank abruptly stops and presses his face against my throat, breathing heavily. "I need to stop," he admits shakily.

"That'd probably be for the best," I agree, just as breathless. That was close-  _really_  close. Thank God Hank has such good control of himself or else we'd be well and truly fucked.

He keeps an arm around my waist after he moves off, stretching out on the table next to me. I turn onto my side to face him while we calm down.

Despite the near-miss there I feel like I'm floating somewhere around Cloud Nine right now. I know I'll have to deal with all the depressing, difficult details later, but at the moment I want to enjoy the glow of requited affection and all that other romantic crap.

I reach up and play with the soft facial hair on his chin, just because I  _can._  I can touch him all I want to right now.

That fact brings a really stupid-happy smile to my face. Not exactly an expression this face of mine has on it all that often.

"What?" Hank asks, his tone uncertain.

"Nothing," I reply. On impulse I lean and and nuzzle his face, feeling that soft hair on my cheeks. "I'm just really happy right now. It's- it's a little weird for me, I guess."

He grins and sweetly kisses me on the forehead. "Me, too."

I scoot closer and snuggle against his side.

_Happy,_  I think to myself as Hank wraps his arms around me. I smile contentedly into his chest.  _He's happy._ _I make him happy, too._

After we've been laying there peacefully for several minutes I feel him sorta...  _shrink_  into himself. When I glance up I realize that he's morphing back into his human-looking self.

Aw man.

I mean, I get it. I really do understand why he uses the serum. But I think I like Beast-Hank a lot more than this version because he's less inhibited and everything. I don't like that he has to keep his emotions under such a tight rein to stay human-looking.

Still, I have to admit that it's kinda fascinating to watch the transformation. Almost like a reverse  _Wolfman_ -type thing.

"You completely busted right out of your shoes," I observe, glancing down at his feet. I also reach over and hand him back his glasses, which got knocked off his face in the middle of our make out session.

"It happens."

A dirty thought strikes me then, one that has me giggling like a complete moron until my ribs start to hurt unbearably. I press my hand against them and hiss in pain.

"Vivien-?" Hank asks, pulling me upright so I can breathe better.

"I'm sorry," I gasp, still laughing. "I was just thinking- it's  _true,_  what they say about guys with big feet."

I smile suggestively and wink at him just to drive the point home more. And trust me when I say that I am  _not_  exaggerating to inflate his ego or anything. Hot damn.

Hank immediately flushes redder than a fucking tomato at the insinuation, which I guess I pretty much expected to happen. Dear Lord, he's too cute for words.

"Oh my God, Hank," I say, nudging him playfully. "That was a  _compliment_."

"Oh."

He gives me that sweet, bashful smile that always makes me melt no matter if he's fuzzy and blue or not.

I chuckle at his adorable modesty and pull him down to cuddle with me some more. I fit into his arms so perfectly it feels like I  _belong_  in them.

_Anything is possible if you want it badly enough,_  I tell myself firmly.  _Somehow, some way- me and Hank, we'll make this work._


	41. And Then Reality Intrudes

**And Then Reality Intrudes**

"Think you can brave the cafeteria for dinner?" Hank asks me a few hours later.

Ugh. Just the  _thought_  of seeing the X-Geeks' surly faces is enough to make me lose my appetite.

"I  _can_ ," I hedge carefully, picking at the strings of the guitar currently in my lap. I'm reluctant because I don't really want this interlude between us to end. Excuse me for not wanting crappy reality to ruin our happy little bubble for a little while longer, ok?

"But you don't want to," he concludes with a sigh.

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Would you?"

"Not really," Hank concedes.

His disappointed expression reminds me all over again how much these past couple days have sucked for him. Being stuck between his teammates and me has definitely been no picnic for Hank.

Considering how much of that is probably in store for him in the future, it's only right that I make a compromise now, isn't it? I can at least do this for him now.

I sigh. "I guess I  _should_  go, though," I mutter. I hold up the guitar chord diagrams I made earlier. "To get this to Marvel Girl. And besides, I've messed up your daily routine enough as it is."

He's not a teacher, so I haven't been taking him away from classes or anything. But I  _do_  know from what he's told me just how much he enjoys being in his laboratory. I feel kinda bad that he hasn't really been in there since I arrived.

But maybe later he can show me around. If he wants to, I mean. I'd love to see it, for him to share with me the things that are important to him, you know?

"I haven't minded. Truly," Hank retorts immediately. "Now come on. It'll be ok."

He stands, and even though I don't believe him worth a damn on that last bit I manage to find a smile for him and take the hand he offers me.

"Alright, fine," I tell him. "I'll willingly follow you into the lion's den, Hank."

He chuckles and starts to lead me from the music room.

"Wait- don't you want to put on shoes before dinner?" I ask, catching sight of his bare feet. "Unless you're doing the whole barefoot thing  _with_  me now?"

The startled look on his face as he looks down at his naked toes makes me laugh. "Oh, right," he agrees sheepishly. "Here- wait just a minute and I'll be right back."

Hank hesitates for a split second before leaning down to kiss me, leaving us both with goofy smiles on our faces. I'm not sure how long it'll be before affectionate gestures like that get commonplace and blase between us, but I'm kinda hoping they never do.

It won't help that we'll have to be so careful about that sort of thing...

I take a minute to consider the situation while Hank sneaks up to his room to replace his shoes and change his ruined shirt. I'm actually starting to feel really confident that we  _can_  make this work. Maybe part of that's because I'm all giddy from the kissing earlier, but still-

We can do this, I'm sure of it. The solution seems so easy now that I feel stupid for not thinking of it before.

See, Hank's a loner and so am I. No one's going to question either of us disappearing for a couple hours here and there to go see each other. I mean, I've been visiting my buddies in Hell's Kitchen and Fred's music shop for  _months_  now and none of the other Brotherhood members have even noticed my absence. I'm sure Hank can do the same here.

We can meet in the City for dates and stuff like that. After all, New York is so big there's  _no way_  anyone we know would spot us there, unless someone bothered to follow one of us. If we're smart and careful, no one will ever find out. I'll be able to have Hank _and_ my brothers.

And as for missions, well...

The sound of familiar approaching footsteps interrupts my thoughts just then, but that's just fine.

There's already a ridiculous smile on my face by the time Hank appears in the hallway, back for us to go to dinner. The way his eyes light up when he sees me makes my smile even wider, if that was possible.

_Jesus, Babineaux, tone it down,_  I scold myself. _You're going to give yourself away if you keep looking at him like a twitterpated idiot._

Right.

I force my expression into more composed lines as we head for the cafeteria together- though I still can't help giving him a kiss in greeting before we continue.

On the way our hands brush against each other, keeping up a sort of almost-contact as we walk. Every now and then my fingers lock with his for a moment before breaking away. It's as close to holding hands as we can get in our current surroundings.

Am I sad about that? Yeah, I am.

In a perfect world I would stay here, with Hank. I mean, I  _love_  it here. The kids, the library- even the music room has potential, though it kinda sucks right now. This place is like some sort of Mutant Camelot, an ideal that's just not meant for someone like me.

Because the world isn't perfect, and no matter how much I wish otherwise I just can't stay.

Hank knows that, doesn't he?

Oh, he's a smart guy. I'm sure he understands why I have to go. Maybe he'll even have some ideas on how we can make sure we don't get caught?

Earlier we were too busy basking in the emotional afterglow of finally admitting how we feel about each other to iron out the details, but we're definitely going to have to come back to reality some time.

For now, though, I'm just going to focus on eating my dinner in hostile territory.

"Where are we going to sit?" I ask once we've made up our trays. Hank actually let me pick my own food out, amazingly enough.

I keep my expression neutral and unconcerned, but I swear this cafeteria is like navigating a minefield. I'm still getting a lot of pointed stares from all over the crowded room, and then over at the X-Geeks' table Angel and Cannonball are currently watching me with obvious dislike and muttering to each other.

"Um, let's go over here," Hank murmurs.

He leads me over to an area that's pretty much as far from the X-Men's cool club table as you can get. The fact that no one's sitting here gives me the impression that this is a social-outcast-no-man's-land.

Pretty fitting for me and Hank. Actually, I kinda like it.

But I think I'd like it  _more_  if the X-Men would stop staring at us. I can feel the dirty looks they keep shooting at us from across the room after they all come to dinner, Storm and Angel especially. Havok looks annoyed about something and Cyclops seems... well, who the hell even  _knows_  with that guy? The dark glasses make it impossible to read him.

Jean, though- Marvel Girl- she kinda looks like she feels bad for us.

I really wish she wouldn't waste the energy.

See, the X-Geeks are never going to like me. I get that. They have no reason to, you know? So to me there's no point in moping about it.

Just another reason on a long fucking list of why I can't stay here.

But Hank on the other hand...

"They're not going to turn on you, are they?" I murmur, casting a meaningful glance towards our sour-faced audience. "For spending so much time with me?"

He shakes his head. "As far as they're concerned, you're simply my patient, and I'm spending time with you because..."

"You're my glorified baby-sitter?"

"Basically."

Well that's a relief. I'm not worth it for him to completely fuck up his life here. I don't know if I could handle the guilt if that happened-

Hank grins suddenly and reaches out towards the brownie on my plate.

I gasp in outrage and smack his hand away. "Don't you dare!" I scold, but I'm giggling anyway. He definitely lightened the mood- which is probably what he intended. "You should never get between a woman and chocolate."

"So I've heard," he replies, chuckling.

* * *

"Would you mind giving these to Je- Marvel Girl?" I ask him when we're close to finishing our food. I hold out the guitar chord sheets for him.

Hank opens his mouth and then closes it. Almost like he wanted to ask why I can't just do it myself but then realized that I don't exactly want to go over to the table full of people who hate my guts. Thanks, but no thanks.

"Sure," he replies. "I'll give them to her on our way out."

I frown. "Wouldn't it be better if you gave them to her later?" I suggest pointedly. "Instead of right in front of everyone? Won't that, I dunno,  _ruffle some feathers_?"

Yeah, that was totally a jab at Angel. Very original, I know.

Hank shakes his head. "It shouldn't be a problem," he assures me. "It's not like it's a coded message or anything, Vivien."

Maybe not, but I'm pretty sure the other X-Men are going to have a problem with this anyway. Hank is ever the optimist, isn't he?

With a sigh I head for the dining hall's exit to wait while Hank dumps our trays and heads over to the cool kids' club. Their table is decently near the doorway and the cafeteria is emptying out so I can hear what's being said without really trying.

"Hey, Hank," Havok greets him as he approaches. "What's up?"

"Nothing, really," Hank replies. He holds out the diagrams for Jean. "Here. She wants you to have this."

Jean looks puzzled as she takes it, but once she sees what's on the papers she smiles. She looks around until she sees me by the door and waves.

_Thank you,_  her mental voice whispers.

Right now I can kinda feel this other-  _presence?-_  in my head that I'm guessing is Jean. I didn't notice that the last time she spoke to me like this. Probably because I was running away from my angry brother and everything.

_You're welcome,_  I reply, smiling a little and awkwardly waving back. _I hope you can still practice._

_I really want to. This will help a lot._

And then the presence is gone. I take a moment to give myself a mental pat on the back for not freaking the fuck out over hearing her voice in my head again. It's  _weird,_  alright?

"What is it?" Angel asks Jean now. He doesn't look happy, what a surprise.

"They're guitar chords," she explains shyly, holding it out for him to see. "Viv- Vixen was showing me how to play guitar a little."

"And some children how to sing," Hank adds.

Aw fuck, why did he have to mention that?

Predictably, the looks on Angel and Storm's faces turn ugly. Cannonball, too. And even Cyclops doesn't look pleased- holy crap, he  _does_  have expressions! Amazing!

"She was-" Storm snaps.

"Lay off it, Storm," Havok orders shortly. "Professor X, Hank, Jean and I were all there. Nothing happened. It looks like the girl's keeping her word not to cause problems while she's here."

_Why thank you for the crumbs from your table, Mrs. Dives,_  I think to myself sarcastically. It's hard to remind myself that he had no reason to trust that I'd keep my word.

Storm seems really put out that her team leader just chastised her like a cranky child. Great, now she's going to love me even  _more,_  isn't she?

Sure enough, she sends a look of pure hatred my way.

But I'm ready for her.

I keep my face completely expressionless as she stares me down, just because I know it'll piss her off more. I don't even blink until Storm finally breaks eye contact and looks down at the table instead.

_Victory is mine_ , I think smugly.

The triumphant feeling doesn't last long, though. Because then Cannonball says this:

"Hey, Hank, I guess you stood Lucy up the other day? I covered for you, though. Told Alison to tell her that you had a work emergency come up. Not really a lie, right?"

Lucy? Who the  _fuck_  is Lucy?

"Thanks," Hank says, after a moment of awkward silence. "I owe you one. I'll- I'll try to make it up to her."

Oh God. No...

_Lucy is- he's got someone else. Someone else. But I thought-_

It suddenly feels like there's no air in my lungs, like I got squished by a fucking building all over again. Only  _worse,_  so much worse.

The guilt and surprise in Hank's expression as he turns around and comes towards me says it all, but I still have to know for sure. Maybe because some tiny part of me, that naive little piece that still believes in fairy tales and happy endings, is desperate for him to prove me wrong.

"Hank," I ask in a voice as hollow as my chest feels right now. "Who the hell is Lucy?"


	42. Stay With Me

**Stay With Me**

"I-I can explain," Hank says, his chagrin obvious.

Why, because he got caught? Oh, I'd  _love_  to hear him try to explain this shit. The two-timing, no-good piece of-

I raise my eyebrows. "I'm listening," I tell him coolly.

"Not here," he replies, glancing around.

"Fine," I agree.

Yeah, let's go somewhere were there's no witnesses, just in case I end up beating him into a bloody pulp. Now that the first shock has passed I'm starting to get  _really_  fucking pissed off.

I turn around and walk away, though I'm aware of Hank trailing along behind me like some lost little boy.

It feels like there's some angry little green gnome chewing on my heart right now. These torturing visions of Hank kissing another woman- a tall brunette with big boobs, basically the exact opposite of me- start to flash in front of my eyes and cause me to get this metallic tang in my mouth, like I can actually  _taste_  the jealousy. I want to scratch this Lucy bitch's face off for touching my man.

_Stop it,_ I tell myself sternly. _You're getting angry at the wrong person._

That's true. Because as much as I want to hate her, Lucy is an innocent party in all this.  _Hank_  is the one who played us both and turned me into the other woman, the two-timing dirty  _bastard._

God, this hurts. I didn't think he was even  _capable_  of something so underhanded. He had me fooled into thinking that he was this sweet nerd that actually cared about me, and I believed it like a total  _sucker._

When we reach the infirmary I turn around and face him expectantly. I put on a poker face because I'll be  _damned_  before I let this man know how much he just hurt me. I've got too much pride for that.

"Lucy is a girl I've gone out with a couple times," Hank explains lamely.

Uh yeah, genius. I fucking gathered that much.

"Why didn't you mention that you have a girlfriend?" I demand, clenching my teeth. Hearing him confirm it out loud made it feel even worse, somehow.

"She's not my girlfriend," he protests. "We've only been out a couple times. Honestly, I don't even like her very much. I feel like I'm forcing myself to go out with her, because-"

He breaks off his babbling, I guess because he realizes what a complete user asshole he sounds like right now.

"Because being with someone you don't like beats being alone?" I prompt. "You realize you're basically using her, right?"

"Yes," Hank admits remorsefully. He hangs his head in shame, but I refuse to let myself feel pity for him right now.

"Why would you do something like that, Hank?" I snap.

"Because of you," he blurts out.

I feel my eyes go wide. "What?"

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since Alkali Lake, Vivien," Hank admits, and I can tell that the words cost him a lot. "Maybe even before then, I don't know. But you've gotten under my skin, so deep I don't think I could shake these feelings even if I wanted to, especially now. I've  _tried-_  that's why I went out with Lucy. I wanted to forget about you, to have some sort of normal relationship instead of pining after someone I couldn't have."

Oh for Christ's sake, what the hell do I even  _say_  to that?

Because while I'm  _really_  mad that he didn't tell me about Lucy, judging from his shocked expression when Cannonball mentioned her it kinda makes me think that Hank honestly forgot she existed for a while. Forgot all about the girl he's  _supposedly_  seeing, because  _I_  showed up. What a fucking bonehead, right?

God dammit. As far as idiotic lapses in memory go, that's kinda a sweet one.

Crap.

And to hear Hank tell it, he was only trying to do for  _himself_  what I wanted for him when I told him to stop talking to me the other day. To make himself forget about me. But he couldn't, any more than I've been able to force myself to forget about  _him._

I believe him, dammit.

And more than that- I forgive him.

"I guess I can understand that," I reluctantly tell him.

Hank lets out an explosive sigh of relief. The fear in his eyes is now replaced by a hopeful look. "It doesn't have to be like that for us anymore, right?" he asks, hesitantly reaching out to take my hands in his. And I let him. "We can be together, can't we? If you stay here?"

Uh oh.

"Stay here?" I repeat faintly. It feels like all the blood just drained out of my face.

His expression falls a little, but he presses on anyway. "Y-yes. Will you stay here, Vivien? With me?"

No no  _no._  I thought he  _understood._

"Is that the only way you think we can be together?" I ask stiffly. "I have to quit the Brotherhood first?"

"How else can we be?" He looks genuinely puzzled.

"Just like we have been," I tell him, trying to sound reassuring. "We can keep it a secret, Hank."

He frowns. "Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Catherine and Heathcliff. These tropes never seem to end well for the star-crossed lovers," he says.

"Works of fiction," I retort.

"Of course they are," Hank agrees sarcastically. "Because in real life people tend not to be so foolish."

I scowl at him for being so unreasonable and pull my hands away. "I really can't stay here."

"Why not, Vivien?" he pleads. "We wouldn't have to hide how we feel about each other here, you know. And admit it- you  _like_  it here. Separate from however you feel for me. The library, the children- I saw how much you enjoyed teaching those kids today, Vivien. You were  _nurturing_  them, giving them something beautiful instead of hurting people. Imagine doing that every day."

You have no idea how much it hurts to have all of these things that I want  _so_  badly dangled right out of my reach because of the responsibilities I have and can't walk away from.

"You don't get it," I snap in exasperation. "It's  _because_  I like it here that I can't stay. Do you think Magneto is going to let me walk away without retribution if I stay here? He'll pull this place apart brick by brick if the X-Men 'steal' one of his soldiers. And even if he doesn't, he'll never allow his people to come here if one of them needs medical treatment ever again, even if they're dying like I was. What if the next person to get badly wounded is one of my brothers?

"And speaking of my brothers- as soon as they find out I left for you they'll hunt you down, and they won't stop until either  _you_  or  _they_  are dead. No matter who survives that situation, I lose. And how do you think  _you'd_  feel if you won, knowing you killed the only family I have left?"

I sigh. Can't he see the logic, here?

"I see what you meant, back at Alkali Lake. And I like what the X-Men do here, Hank, but I'd feel useless if I stayed. I wouldn't be able to go out in the real world and try to make a difference like I can with the Brotherhood. We both know the rest of the X-Men will never trust me enough to go on a mission. I'd be stuck here twiddling my thumbs," I sadly say. "I want you, baby, but there are things out there that are bigger than you and me. I can't just ignore them and ride off into the sunset with you."

Hank lowers his head, avoiding my gaze. Like I'm not going to see the pain in his eyes, anyway.

I step closer and cup his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me. "We can be together, Hank, we can. We can have both each other and our missions. Haven't we seen these past few days that being on different teams doesn't have to come between us?" I murmur earnestly. "We can meet in the City and spend time together. If we're smart and careful, no one will find out."

"A secret, like we're ashamed of each other," Hank mutters, bitterness in every word. "What kind of relationship is that?"

"The only kind I can give you," I whisper.

He closes his eyes, his expression wounded.

Damn.

I  _hate_  hurting him like this. I mean, I understand that he wants me to stay here- for fuck's sake,  _I_  want to stay here- but I  _can't._  Not in good conscience. And he's just refusing to consider any other options.

Almost like...

I drop my hands from his face, causing Hank to open his eyes again. "Nothing's changed at all, has it?" I ask him bitterly. "I thought we could get past this and meet somewhere in the middle after these past few days. But... but I'm still hurting you by not leaving the Brotherhood."

It feels like we're right back in that stinky janitor's closet, and I'm telling Hank why I have to stay with the Brotherhood. Right before the building exploded and brought us to now. Has nothing really changed since then?

Only how much more this hurts.

Seriously, getting squished by the building was a helluva lot less painful than this.

"So leave the Brotherhood. Stay with me, Vivien," he implores. He reaches for me, but I force myself to step back.

"I already explained to you why I can't leave them," I retort. "We both know I'm not as bad as I used to be, right? Well, maybe the others can change, too. I have to at least  _try_  to make the Brotherhood better- to make my  _brothers_  better. I have to. Because if I walk away from them like this I not only put you and everyone here in danger, I also turn my back on who I am.  _And_  the only family I have left. I can't just  _leave_  Myles, Hank."

I take a deep breath and practically beg him with my eyes.

"No- this is me, Hank. Brotherhood member, crazy brother, and all. Do you accept me as-is, or not?"

"Of course I do," he replies. "But-"

"There can't be any 'but's,'" I warn, shaking my head.

"That's not fair," Hank says petulantly.

"Neither is trying to change me, Hank."

I wait for him to say something- to refute my claim, to say he'll consider it-  _anything_  at all, really, but he remains silent.

Ouch.

When I feel the tears start to sting my eyes I immediately hunch over and turn around, heading for the bathroom. I refuse to let him see me cry, dammit.

"Vivien, wait-" Hank says, but I've already shut the door in his face. "Vivien-"

I ignore him.

_Well what are you going to do now, Babineaux?_  I ask the mirror's reflection.

But there's only one real choice, isn't there?

I mean, I  _can't_  stay here. Not when walking away from the Brotherhood- especially my brothers- now goes against everything that I am as a person. Hank's basically asking me to stop being  _me._

And I can't do that. Not even for him.

With a deep, calming breath I take the big ball of pain in my chest and stuff it away to deal with later. Then I start gathering my things, changing into my dusty jumpsuit-

"Vivien, please come out," Hank's muffled voice begs. "Please-"

When I open the door he stumbles slightly in surprise.

"You're leaving?"

"Very observant of you," I mutter as I step around him. My hands are full of the clothes and toiletries Jean got for me.

"But you're still hurt," Hank argues, following me over to the bed.

"Am I dying?" I ask. I'm folding the clothes and pointedly avoiding his eyes.

"No, but-"

"Then I'm fine," I interject. "I'll just take it easy for a few more days."

"What about your scent? You still smell like I marked you. Fox and Jackal-"

"But there  _is_  no mark, so no worries," I reply, gesturing to my neck. I turn to face him but keep my gaze focused on his shoulder. I can't promise I won't break down like a wimp if I look him in the eye. "Please tell the Professor thank you, for everything. And Je- Marvel Girl, for being so kind. And thank you as well, Hank."

There, I at least thanked him again. That way I'm not a total miscreant.

Hank grabs my upper arms to force me into looking at him. Ok, now I'm mad. "Please don't leave this way," he pleads. "Let's talk about this, Vivien."

"There's nothing more to say," I tell him, shaking my head. "I want to be with someone who loves me for who I  _am,_  rather than what they  _want_  me to be."

I shrug off his hands and head for the door. I've apparently stunned him into silence, because Hank doesn't say a word. Or maybe he's given up, I don't know.

When I'm at the door I turn and say, "Lucy will probably forgive you if you go apologize, you know. That way you can have that 'normal' relationship you want so badly." It starts to get difficult to keep my voice even, but I manage it somehow. "I can't be what you want. So I want you stay away from me. I mean it this time, ok? Just- I'm just another Brotherhood member to you now."

And then I walk out.


	43. One Day at a Time

**One Day at a Time**

Sneaking out of the X-Mansion and the surrounding grounds is a breeze, even with my crappy ribs and semi-gimpy leg. I guess the security system is all about keeping people  _out,_  not in. It figures.

I debate my options on what to do next once I've reached the highway- find a bus? Steal a car? I don't think Charles- excuse me, the  _Professor_ \- would really approve of me doing that so close to his turf.

In the end I find an emergency payphone a couple miles down the road and call back to base for help.

A familiar speedster answers the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Peter," I say. "It's me."

"Vixie!" he crows cheerfully. "How're you feeling? Dad talked to the Professor and said you were going to live, but we were still really worried about you. I- I mean,  _we_ wanted to talk to you, but me and Wanda weren't sure if it'd be weird of us to call the X-Geeks, you know? And then Dadneto's got that rule about us not going there, or I would've come to visit, I promise-"

"It's ok, Peter," I reply, chuckling. "Actually, do you mind coming to pick me up? I'm on Route 172, outside the school."

"They didn't even offer to give you a  _ride?_  At this time of night? That's rude. Or at least-"

I roll my eyes at how he immediately jumped to the conclusion that the X-Men were guilty of something. "Do you really think having an X-Man drop me off at base would be a good idea?" I ask rhetorically.

"Oh," he says sheepishly. "Right."

"That's what I thought. So what do you say? Come get me, please? I mean, I  _could_  try to find a bus or steal a car, but then I'd miss out on spending time with  _you,"_  I tease.

Suddenly there's this weird pause hanging between us.

It's only a second or so, but Jesus, with Peter that's a fucking eternity.

"I'll be there in five minutes," he assures me, and for whatever reason I can hear him smiling.

* * *

As promised, it takes less than five minutes for Peter to come find me. Thank God, because I'm doing my best to hold myself together and not turn into a puddle of tears right now. If only I can hold out until I'm alone, in my room-

"Hi, Vixie," Peter says happily, suddenly dropping out of hyperspace right in front of where I'm currently leaning against the payphone box.

I muster up a smile for him. "Hello, Peter."

On impulse I reach out and hug him, just because I could really use one right now. To my surprise he's sorta hesitant to return the gesture.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "Do I stink?"

"No. I just don't want to break you," he admits ruefully.

I chuckle. "I feel  _loads_  better, Peter," I assure him. "Please don't treat me like a cripple."

He lets out a sigh of relief. "Ok."

And he hugs me really tightly, burying his face in my hair.

God, I wish I could say that this feels as good as when Hank held me, but it doesn't. It's just- it's just not the same. Will I ever have that safe, warm feeling I got with him ever again? Somehow I doubt it.

_Don't you_  dare _cry, dammit._

"Thank God," Peter whispers. He sounds so serious- not like the Peter I know at all. "I thought I was going to lose you, Vivien."

"Aw, Peter," I murmur. "Don't you worry about me, honey. I'm like a cockroach, you know."

He chuckles and then pulls back so we can see each other's faces. I'm kinda surprised that he doesn't move his hands off my waist while he looks at me with this really intense expression in his dark eyes, but I decide it's not worth it to comment.

After a couple seconds it starts to get kinda weird, though. What the hell is wrong with him? Did he really miss me  _that_  much?

I cross my eyes and stick my tongue out, a goofy face that makes him burst into surprised laughter.  _That's_  more like it.

"God, I missed you, Vixie," he says. He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. "Let's get you home."

_Home? I wish, Peter. I wish._

* * *

Peter brings me straight to the living room, where both my brothers are eagerly waiting.

"Vivien," James sighs, obviously relieved.

"Sissy!"

"Hi, guys," I say, coming towards them with open arms for a welcome-back hug.

My family. Wherever they are is where I belong. Not some fancy school...

"You gotta stop doing this shit to me, Sis," my older brother mutters good-naturedly as he approaches. "You're-"

And then everything goes wrong.

James freezes for a split second and then growls, his face twisting into an enraged grimace as he suddenly leaps for me.

On a good day I'd be able to dodge him, no sweat, but my leg is still messed up. He tackles me to the ground with his hands squeezing around my throat.

Exactly what I needed after breaking a couple ribs and getting a collapsed lung, right?

The cherry on top is that Myles is right there along with him, snarling furiously. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"What the  _fuck,_  Vivien?" James growls. "You let that X-Geek touch you?"

Oh, Jesus. It's my scent.

"James-" I choke out. "It's not- what you think-"

"Don't lie to me," he howls. He squeezes my throat tighter for emphasis. "I can smell him on you, you whore."

"Hey!" Peter yells, clearly panicking. "You're hurting her-"

In the blink of an eye both of my brothers are flying across the room. Their heads make rather sickening thuds when they hit the wall, but I don't give a shit right now. Maybe I'll care more when I can fucking  _breathe_  again.

"You ok?" Peter asks anxiously, helping me sit up as he kneels beside me. His hand stays protectively on my back.

"Yeah," I gasp, trying to catch my breath. Christ, I hope I didn't just re-break a rib.

"What the hell was that about?" Peter demands of my brothers, who both look like they're thinking about attacking me again.

"Her scent," James snarls accusingly. "It smells like she got marked by a feral. That Beast guy-"

"Didn't touch me like that!" I interject frantically, which isn't exactly true, is it? But still, I push my hair back and expose my neck. "See? No mark."

Both of them seem unconvinced. Myles takes a step forward, like he wants to get a closer look.

"You stay away from her," Peter orders sharply. My brothers bare their fangs at him.

"I smell like Beast because he gave me a transfusion of his own blood to save me," I explain hastily. "He said the scent will go away in a couple days, alright?"

A tense pause.

James finally grunts and shakes his head, like he's snapping out of his rage. "Sorry, Sis," he mutters. "It's just- the thought of anyone touching you like that, especially  _him..._  It makes me a little crazy. I won't let him take you away. You belong with  _us,_  no one else."

I suddenly can't speak past the lump in my throat.

But that's alright, because I don't even know what to say.

"Come on, Vixie," Peter says quietly, shooting James a dirty look. "I'll take you to your room."

"Thanks," I whisper.

I'm definitely not in the mood to entertain anybody right now, but I also don't have the heart to kick Peter- and Wanda, who joins us shortly- out of my room.

"So, what was it like there?" Wanda asks curiously once I've changed out of my jumpsuit and crawled into bed. Both her and her brother are sitting on my floor.

"It was really nice," I reluctantly admit. "The kids there are all happy and safe."

"Were the X-Men actually nice to you?"

I snort. "Not really," I reply. "Well, the Professor was great-"

_Despite his ulterior motives-_

"-And Beast saved my life. He was... he was really nice to me."

_Up until he broke my heart, the bastard._

Peter shifts uncomfortably.

"He mentioned meeting you guys a couple years back, when you helped them break your dad out of prison, Peter," I offer tentatively. "He said the Professor was disappointed that you two didn't come to him for help afterwards."

Wanda rolls her eyes. "Right, because we were going to go off with a stranger over our own father."

"Your dad was a stranger to you at that point too, though," I observe.

Now both twins look uneasy.

"But I guess you can't argue with blood like that, can you?" I murmur, to which both of my friends earnestly nod in agreement.

You can't ignore your family, no matter how shitty they treat you sometimes.

After all, didn't my own brother just try to _strangle_ me because he thought I'd been marked by another feral? Christ,  _that's_  what I left Hank for? What I walked away from the opportunity to teach those little kids for? A chance to finally do what I want with my life, rather than having to worry about the two of them all the time? I came back for  _that?_

It seemed like it was right at the time, but fuck me this was a terrible homecoming.

Reservation for Babineaux, pity party of one.

_Oh, snap out of it,_ I tell myself sternly.  _Hank wanted you to drop everything in your life and leave for him. That's_  bullshit _and you know it._

Right.

Because I fell for that man exactly the way he is- awkward nerdiness and all- and didn't ask him to change anything for me. Instead I just wanted him to return the favor, to let me still try to make a difference in the Brotherhood. To hopefully bring my brothers back from this dark path I see them going down.

Isn't that what he's supposed to be all about? Change and redemption and all that crap?

But no, Hank just wanted what was easy and normal. The big, furry hypocrite.

The unfairness of it all rankles in my gut long after Peter and Wanda leave me alone for the night, all this betrayal and hurt and anger swirling around until I feel nauseous from it.

God, I'm such an idiot.

I finally let down the walls I put up around my heart to protect myself, and look where it got me. I guess that's what I get for wanting more, right?

Stupid, stupid,  _stupid._

* * *

October 29, 1974

The next day James and Myles pointedly ignore me, except for the growls they send my way whenever I enter a room. Far from scaring me now, it honestly just makes me want to scream at them.

_Hey fucktards, I just had my heart broken for_  you. _And now you're treating me like_  this? _Get over yourselves already._

Rather than moping around feeling sorry for myself I end up heading over to Hell's Kitchen to spend some time with my friends.

"Hey, baby girl," Marcel says when he sees me coming. But then he frowns in concern when I get closer. "You alright?"

I guess I probably look like shit right now, don't I? I  _may_  or may not have cried a little last night, but no one needs to know that.

"Still recovering from a rough weekend," I mutter.

"You too, huh?"

I eye him curiously. "What do you mean?"

Marcel winces. "Theresa's hit a rough patch. Betty caught her trying to score some smack on the corner the other day."

"Yikes."

"Yeah..."

By unspoken agreement we drift over to where our spazzed-out friend sits, hunched over into a ball. Mr. Cole is next to her, but he looks a little helpless.

"Hey, Mr. Cole. Hi, Theresa," I say, plopping down on her other side. "Marcel says you've been having a hard time."

"Marcel talks too much," she retorts, throwing said man a dirty look.

He opens his mouth to defend himself-

"Maybe, but that's an issue for another time," I cut in. "Want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head and remains stubbornly silent for several minutes.

I sigh. Ok, time for a Plan B.

_Hmm..._

"Mr. Cole, can I borrow your guitar?" I ask.

"It's  _your_  guitar, Vivien," he retorts, holding it out immediately.

I roll my eyes.  _What a stubborn old man,_  I think to myself as I settle down with the guitar on my lap.

It sounds corny, but I kinda feel like music is the best way to reach people sometimes, you know?

"I sing this lullaby for my little brother sometimes. He's- he's not really all that stable, mentally, and it calms him down," I murmur right before I start to play. I can sense their surprise as I begin- I don't talk about my family as a general rule.

The lullaby works like a charm. By the chorus Theresa starts to unwind herself from the fetal position she had herself in.

_"Just close your eyes, the sun is going down/ You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now/ Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound-"_

"That was beautiful," she whispers when it's over. "I feel- I actually feel a little better."

"I'm glad," I tell her sincerely. "I just- I know it's hard, living out here and trying to stay sober and stuff. But you're not alone, ok? We're all here for you. And when you feel like giving up, just try to focus on taking it one day at a time."

_One day at a time,_ I tell myself firmly. _You should listen to your own advice, Babineaux._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credit to Taylor Swift for the song "Safe and Sound."


	44. To Catch a Vixen

**To Catch a Vixen**

October 31, 1974

"Ugh, something stinks like  _trash_  in here," James pointedly announces as he steps into the kitchen where Peter and I are sitting a few days later.

Peter immediately stiffens, ready to defend me, but I surreptitiously reach out and poke him in warning.

"Not worth it," I say to him under my breath.

I know James is talking about me, after all. I'm just not going to rise to the bait. Instead I nonchalantly keep eating my cereal and don't even acknowledge his presence. It's better than repeating the same scene that's been happening over and over again since I returned from my visit with the X-Men.

Can I just say that these past few days have been  _awful?_

Ever since I got back both of my brothers have been acting like complete assholes towards me because I still smell like Hank. It's gotten to the point where I've lost patience with them "following their instincts" about the whole thing and just don't give a rat's ass about their feral sensibilities anymore.

Maybe I should be more understanding, but what can I say? I'm not that  _evolved._ And besides, I've got my own issues to deal with.

Just as I hoped, my present non-reaction deflates my brother's antagonism. For the moment, at least.

"We've got a mission tonight," James tells us. "You two, Scarlet and me."

"Doing what?" Peter asks curiously.

"Your dad wants us to steal some stuff from a factory. DFD's or something."

"Do you mean  _CFC's_?" I inquire.

Not because I'm trying to nitpick or anything, I just want to know. But James still glowers at me like I'm purposely trying to make him look dumb.

I sigh in exasperation. Alright, next question. "Why are we stealing CFC's?"

He shrugs. "Who cares? I'm just hoping the X-Geeks show up so I can rip Beast's ass apart," he boasts.

"Right, because that worked out  _so_  well for you last time," I retort, thinking about the scene I witnessed months ago. James was lucky that Hank moved his head for him so he wouldn't drown in his own blood after getting knocked out.

In hindsight,  _not_  the brightest thing to say at that moment.

James snarls. "What are you trying to say, huh?" he demands, all wounded masculinity and shit. "He's  _stronger_  than me or something?"

Well he  _is,_  but I know with James that'll go over like a fart in church.

"I'm just saying that the last time you fought Ha- him you came out on the losing end, that's all," I reply diplomatically.

James scowls at me for a moment before he suddenly points an accusing finger my way. "You  _like_  him, don't you?"

I scoff. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't lie to me," he hisses. "You've got a crush on him because he saved you. Admit it, Vivien."

For some reason Peter is suddenly watching me like a hawk right along with James.

"I  _respect_  him," I retort. By some miracle I'm able to keep my face expressionless. "How could I not? The guy saved my  _life,_  James. And look, I get that you don't like  _how_ he did it, but come on. You're acting like you'd rather I was dead or something."

"Than have you mated to that guy? Yeah, actually, I would."

Hearing confirmation of that- even though I'd already guessed as much- still doesn't make it hurt any less. Knowing that my own brother would rather have me dead than see me happily mated to Hank just proves all over again that leaving the X-Mansion was the right move.

God, sometimes it sucks to be right so often.

"Nice to know your brotherly affection has a limit, James," I observe coolly.

My brother winces, like he suddenly realized just  _how_  bad that sounded. He coughs uncomfortably and mutters, "we're leaving at eight."

And then he walks out, leaving me and Peter alone again.

"Not much for apologizing, is he?" the speedster mutters angrily.

I snort. "He never has been," I reply, not bothering to hide the bitterness in my tone.

_He'd rather I was dead than with Hank... Not like he has to ever worry about that_  now, _does he?_

A sharp pain suddenly goes through my chest, causing me to grimace and press my hand against it.

"Vivien?" Peter asks anxiously, gently touching my shoulder. "You ok?"

"Yeah," I whisper. "Just- my ribs still hurt a little."

Now there's a big fat lie.

Because I miss Hank, ok? I miss him more than words can say.

And I'm  _so_  mad that he refused to even  _consider_  a middle ground option, even though it was the only real way for us to be together. Like once again what I had to offer wasn't  _good_  enough for him.

I really do wish I could've given him more, what he wanted for us, even though I still stand by my reasons why I couldn't. But that doesn't mean I can't mourn the loss of what could-have-been between us, you know?

What could-have-been, if only he wasn't so fucking  _blind._

_Stupid, stupid man._

"Maybe you should sit it out tonight, then," Peter suggests now.

I shake my head. "Thanks, but it's alright," I say quickly. "I'll be ok."

_Someday. Until then, one day at a time..._

* * *

As planned, we leave base at eight o'clock and head for this little factory in New Jersey. It's up in the mountains, where the altitude just feels  _great_  for my crappy lungs, of course. The factory itself is situated at the edge of a decent-sized forest.

"Alright, that's enough," Wanda announces after the third time I have to stop lugging boxes to catch my breath. We're supposed to be loading up a delivery truck. "Vixen, why don't you keep watch?"

"I'm fine, though," I assure her. I stoop to pick up the box I'd set down again.

"No, you're  _not,"_  she retorts. "And I'm not letting you hurt yourself like this. Quicksilver-"

A silver-haired blur snatches away the box before I can stop him.

"Seriously?" I snap. "Come on, guys-"

But neither of them listen. They badger me until I finally surrender and go hop onto the roof of the delivery truck we're loading to keep watch over the trees. Hopefully I don't die of boredom in the meantime, jeez.

Being relegated to lookout duty hurts my pride, dammit. It's a post for rookies to make themselves useful, not someone with my experience on the job. Excuse me if I believe that's  _far_  below my skill level.

It doesn't help that James gets his panties in a twist over it, because he's a jealous twat like that. Every time he makes a trip outside to load some boxes he makes some sort of snide comment about me not pulling my own weight until it's everything I can do not to turn around and knock him out with one of my knives.

"Must be nice just to sit there while the  _rest_  of us work," he mutters loudly.

My jaw clenches in irritation. "It is," I agree sarcastically, staring out into the darkness.

_Just rub it in, why don't you? Asshole._

"You little-"

"Hey!" Wanda exclaims in exasperation. "God, what the hell is with you two lately? Lay off of her, Fox. She's still healing from having a  _building fall on her._ "

"Maybe she should go back to Beast again and have him fix her  _right_  this time," James retorts contemptuously. "That smell is fading, maybe she needs another hit of that freak's blood-"

"You know, Vixie would probably be better already if you hadn't tried to  _strangle_  her the other night," Peter interjects.

"Well-"

I tune them all out at that point. I mean, I appreciate the twins defending me and everything, but I also know it's a wasted effort. If James wants to be a little bitch about this nothing can stop him.

Just then I sense the wind shift. Instead of coming in from the east it starts to blow from the north, in the direction of the forest beyond this little clearing. It's instinctive for me to survey the scents from the new source.

I lift my nose and take a deep inhale.

_Whoa, now._

We're not alone out here. Several people- several  _mutants,_  from what I can smell, are in that forest. And they're close by, too. Probably hiding just in the treeline, watching us.

Which could only mean one thing.

I stand up and shout, "X-Men!" a split second before energy beams come shooting out of the trees at us from two separate directions. Cyclops and Havok, of course.

It's just enough warning that the four of us are able to leap clear of the truck before it turns into a smoldering wreck. Those fucks had better be glad that CFC's aren't explosive, damn. Otherwise everything within a thousand yards would've been cooked- including  _themselves._

Fucking Havok is at it again. Let's shoot first and think about the consequences later, right?

Now a thick layer of fog instantaneously appears over the area, blinding us all. Courtesy of Storm, I assume.

"Shit! Bail out!" I hear Peter shout. His voice carries from beyond the treeline already. "Meet back at the rendezvous point!"

Oh yay,  _running._  This is going to feel fan-fucking-tastic.

Unfortunately I have no choice but to take off for the forest as well. As I pass the first tree an achingly familiar scent hits my nose.

Crap, it's-

Sure enough, I run right past Hank, close enough to touch him if I wanted to. My eyes are inevitably drawn towards his for a split-second as I pass.

God, it hurts just to look at him. To still love him so much, even after he hurt me so badly.

_Eyes forward, Babineaux,_  I scold myself.  _You know better than that._

I grit my teeth and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.

"Angel, Cannonball, Beast- chase them off!" I hear Havok order, before his voice fades into the distance along with the blinding mist.

Aw man. Hank better not follow me-

"Vivien, stop!"

I glance over my shoulder to see that he's in hot pursuit and gaining on me fast.

Goddammit,  _why?_  I fucking  _told_  him not to talk to me anymore, for Christ's sake.

Of course it's just my luck that he'd chase me while I'm still recovering, right? Any other night I'm pretty sure I could outrun Hank, but right now I'm not so sure.

Somehow I manage to find a reserve of speed and pick up the pace. I try to ignore the piercing pain in my chest, but with every step I take it's getting more and more difficult to breathe.

After over a mile I'm forced to take drastic measures. Hank's just too close for comfort now, and I need a moment to catch my breath.

Gathering all of my remaining strength I leap for a tree, landing about ten feet high up its trunk. I start to scramble up, trying to get out of his reach-

And then Hank jumps up and grabs onto my boot. I lose my grip on the tree because of his fat furry butt dragging me down and end up falling back to earth with a snarl.

Hank pulls me against him in mid-air so I land face-up on top of him rather than the ground.

"Vivien-"

I throw an elbow into his stomach, causing his breath to escape in a wheeze. I'm up and running again before he recovers himself.

_Come on, Babineaux, come on-_

Now the bastard fucking _tackles me from behind._  He tucks me tightly against his chest as he lands on his side, taking most of our impact with the ground with his own body.

I immediately start trying to work myself free, hissing and snarling at him, but the fucker grabbed my wrists while we were flying through the air and I can't break his grip.

Hank shifts so I'm flat on my back with my hands pinned above my head on the forest floor.

"Let me go, you bastard," I snap, baring my fangs.

"Vivien, please-"

I kick him in the shin.

He growls and scoots so he's halfway on top of me and grabs my ankle with an opposable foot so I can't kick him again. For some reason he winces. No idea  _why,_  since  _he's_  squishing me into the ground and  _I'm_  the one who's still recovering from a goddamn building falling on me and everything.

"Vivien, please stop," Hank pleads. "I just want to talk."

"I don't  _want_  to talk to you," I hiss, because I  _don't._  I just want to figure out how to move on from the feelings I have for him in peace. "I told you to stay away from me, remember?"

"I know," he replies. He shifts his grip on my wrists so he's only using one hand to hold them now. The other he moves to gently stroke my face. "But I  _can't_  stay away from you. Please, just hear me out."

Oh God.

I'm turning all mushy again- his touch, those warm sunset eyes, and then these words that I wish I could  _believe-_

But I can't. I can't allow myself to be vulnerable or else I'll just get burned all over again, dammit. So I turn my head into his palm and try to bite him, unintentionally baring my neck.

And Hank, Hank leans down and presses his fangs to the space right below my ear.

The place where his mark would go, if he claimed me as his mate.


	45. Hank McCoy: World Class Apologizer

**Hank McCoy: World Class Apologizer**

I immediately freeze and stop squirming, the growls dying in my throat.

Not because I  _want_  to, but because I  _have_  to. The feral in me-  _Vixen-_  just instinctively submits to Hank's show of dominance without any conscious input on my part. Trust me when I say that it's  _definitely_  not by choice.

Oh, I'm going to fucking  _kill_  him. I'm so pissed I can barely even see straight right now.

How  _dare_  he threaten me like this? Like I needed the reminder that at any second he could steal away my choice and  _force_  me to stay with him?

I'm not mad at him anymore. Now I'm fucking  _livid._

"I'm sorry," Hank says, pulling away so he can look me in the eye. I swear to God, if I could burn him with my gaze he'd be a fucking brisket right now. I don't give two shits that he looks ashamed of himself for this, either. "I just want to talk to you, Vivien."

"Fine," I snarl. "Talk, so I can pretend to listen to you tell me why I should become an X-Man and then you can let me go."

"I-I don't want you to become an X-Man," Hank explains hesitantly. "Well- I mean, I  _do,_  but I realize now why you can't. All of your reasons were perfectly valid, I was just too caught up in my own narrow-mindedness to listen to your point of view. I'm so sorry."

What. The. Fuck.

Dear Lord, he's saying everything I wished for deep down in the most secret, stupidly naive and hopeful part of my soul. A piece of me whose very existence I refuse to acknowledge most of the time.

I'm so shocked by the apparent about-face that I don't even move when he reaches down and tentatively strokes my cheek again.

"Vivien, will you please give me another chance?  _Please?"_

I don't reply- I'm still processing it all, ok?

"Beast!"

"Beast! You out there?"

It's the X-Men- Angel and Cannonball, I think. Hank's expression is a little frantic as he glances up, his gaze focused somewhere behind me in the trees. They must be nearby, then.

Hank releases my wrists and gently helps me sit up as he kneels by my side.

"I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but will you meet me at the Balcony Bridge in Central Park tomorrow?" he whispers pleadingly, taking my hands in his. Sweet and tender this time, not in a restraining way at all. "Two o'clock? Please?"

I nod reluctantly, automatically. I'm still so shocked that I can't think to do anything else.

"Thank you," Hank whispers, with a sincerity that pierces me right through the heart. He helps me gain my feet and then brings my hands up to his lips, laying a fervent kiss on the back of each.

"Beast! Hello?"

The X-Men's voices are even closer now- actually, I spy the gaudy yellow splashes on their uniforms through the trees. When Hank turns to look for them I slip away from him without another word.

"I'm over here," I hear him call out behind me as I beat a hasty retreat.

Oh sweet baby Jesus, what am I going to do now?

* * *

November 1, 1974

I spend most of the next morning having an ongoing argument with myself, with my decision to go meet Hank or not changing from one minute to the next.

_You should go hear him out,_  one part of me says.  _Give him another chance._

_He doesn't_  deserve _another chance,_  another piece argues.  _Especially after he threatened to mark you._

To be fair, I'm pretty sure he only did that so I would chill out and listen. It was basically the only way to get me to do that, if I'm being honest with myself. So while I don't  _like_  it, I can kinda understand that one.

_Fine. But how do you even know if he was being sincere? Maybe he just wants another chance to try to convince you to go back to the mansion with him. Do you_  really  _want to risk getting your heart crushed when you go through that same fucking argument_  again?

Definitely not.

But I really do have to wonder what exactly brought on this apparent change of heart for him. I'm just not sure if my curiosity is strong enough to overcome my caution, you know?

Oh jeez, what if it's just because that Lucy woman dumped him and now he's coming crawling back to me because he feels he doesn't have any other options?

Well  _fuck_  that, because I refuse to be  _anyone's_  second choice.

That's it, I've decided. I'm not going.

After all, I've got enough on my plate without this sort of romantic entanglement, right? My life is complicated enough, thanks. All this is probably for the best, anyway...

To prove to myself that I'm not going I settle down in my room, ready to lose myself in a book. If I keep myself busy until past two the chance will pass me by and I'll be able to move on from all this shit. Right?

Right.

Or I sure as hell  _hope_  so.

Feeling pretty damn proud of myself for being so strong, I snatch a book from my shelf without looking first- it turns out to be  _New Poems_  by Rilke, one of my favorite poets- and lay down on my bed. I let the volume fall open at random and begin to read-

_"How shall I hold on to my soul, so that_   
_it does not touch yours? How shall I lift_   
_it gently up over you on to other things?_   
_I would so very much like to tuck it away_   
_among long lost objects in the dark_   
_in some quiet unknown place, somewhere_   
_which remains motionless when your depths resound._   
_And yet everything which touches us, you and me,_   
_takes us together like a single bow,_   
_drawing out from two strings but one voice._   
_On which instrument are we strung?_   
_And which violinist holds us in the hand?_   
_O sweetest of songs."_

"Sonuvabitch," I hiss, throwing the damn thing across the room. That one hit a little  _too_  close to home, ok?

Afterwards I sit there brooding for a long time, wondering if the universe is trying to tell me something. I mean, a poem about being drawn to someone even though you don't want to be, as I'm sitting here struggling with the same goddamn thing?

Jesus, it's like I just stepped into a sappy movie or something. How much more heavy-handed with the symbolism can you get, right?

I've never put any weight in shit like that. Fate and signs and whatever. But right now I really have to wonder...

_Should_  I go? Hear Hank out at least? Am I brave enough for that?

It's the last question that decides me.

Alright, I'm going.

Because Vivien Babineaux is no coward, dammit. I'd never be able to live with myself if I left this chance on the table like that.

* * *

Even though I'm cutting it a little close on time I take a moment to observe Hank from afar when I arrive in Central Park. It looks like he's been anxiously pacing for a bit, but as I watch he plops down on one of the benches on the bridge and starts to compulsively check his watch instead. The poor thing. He's got something in his hands- a flower, I think?

Aw. No one's ever gotten me flowers before.

Oh goddammit, I'm doing that melting thing again already and I haven't even  _talked_  to him yet.

_Get your shit together, Babineaux,_  I tell myself firmly as I approach him.  _Don't get all mushy and forget what he said before. Just because you came today does_  not _mean you automatically forgive him, alright?_

By the time I'm close enough for Hank's weak human eyes to finally notice me he's turned to look at the water behind him instead. It's pretty clear he doesn't know I'm here yet.

_"Nature's first green is gold,"_  Hank murmurs quietly, his soft voice floating to me in the autumn breeze.  _"Her hardest hue to hold-"_

I could call out to him, but I don't. As much as I hate to admit it, I really enjoy listening to him like this.

What can I say? Poetry is sexy.

_"Her early leaf's a flower;  
But only so an hour.  
Then leaf subsides to leaf.  
So Eden sank to grief-"_

_"So dawn goes down to day/ Nothing gold can stay,"_  I conclude as I come to a stop in front of him. "Robert Frost, huh?"

Hank whips his head around so quick I'm surprised he doesn't hurt his neck. His eyes look about ready to pop out of his face from shock at the sight of me.

"H-hi," he says, rising to his feet.

_Remember, be careful._

I watch him warily. "Hi, Hank."

"This is for you," he nervously tells me, holding out the flower. It's a gardenia, one of my favorites. Because of course it is, right? "Y-you look beautiful, Vivien."

Aw man.

_Damn_  Hank and his endearing awkwardness and his compliments that are just made sweeter because of the adorably shy way he says them. Damn him right to hell.

It's hard to hold back an ironic smile as I take the proffered flower. "Thank you."

An uneasy silence falls between us now.

Hank looks like he's struggling to come up with something to say, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting, because no way am I speaking first. I mean,  _he's_ the one who wanted this little powwow, not me. Time for him to start talk-

Without warning Hank slips an arm around my waist and pulls me in for a kiss. Just a brief meeting of lips, too quick for me to respond or even slap him, but still a kiss.

"I absolutely adore you," he says fervently, still holding me close. "Everything about you, exactly the way you are. A-and I want to be with you, if you'll have me. Please?"

Oh sweet baby Jesus, how much I've wished in my dreams and stupid fantasies that he would tell me these things! It honestly feels too good to be true.

Which means it probably  _is_  too good to be true, right?

I mean, this kind of shit doesn't happen to me. I'm just not the kind of girl that inspires guys to buy flowers and romantically declare themselves, you know? I'm more the girl who rolls her eyes at that sort of thing but secretly wishes it would happen to her.

So there's gotta be a catch.

I frown. "Did Lucy dump you or something?" I guess suspiciously. "Is that was this is about? I thought you wanted a 'normal' relationship."

Hank shakes his head. "I told Lucy I didn't want to see her anymore," he explains. "S-she replied by calling me a 'big, goofy dork' with a hideous sense of fashion."

I can't doubt his sincerity on that one, it's written all over his face. It's difficult to hide how pleased that makes me, him dismissing her so completely. I almost smile at the thought.

But I can't let myself weaken before I have all the facts here. I refuse to let myself be fooled again.

_Come on, Babineaux. Be strong._

I reach up and smooth down the collar of his ugly floppy-collared shirt. "Well, she's not wrong," I mutter. I pointedly step away from his embrace and sit down on the bench behind him.

"About which part?" Hank asks, turning to look at me. "The 'goofy dork' part, or the bad fashion sense?"

I smirk at him. "Both."

He grimaces and tentatively sits next to me. Close, but still a respectful distance away.

I watch him carefully, looking for any hint of a lie or a double-cross on his part while keeping my own face as expressionless as possible. I'm still waiting for that other shoe to drop.

"I don't want to talk about Lucy anymore," Hank says hesitantly. "She's not the one I want.  _Normal_  isn't what I want, not anymore.  _You_  are." He takes a deep breath. "Tell me, Vivien, is there some way I can make up for what I said, or have I completely ruined my chance with you?"

I'm not quite ready to answer that, as much as my stupid, twitterpated heart is suddenly tripping all over itself right now.

Cut my some slack, alright? It's kinda difficult not to feel at least  _something_  when a handsome man is straight up telling you he wants you and is practically begging for forgiveness, jeez.

But he still hasn't explained  _why_  he changed his mind.

"I don't get you, Hank," I tell him, shaking my head exasperatedly. "A few days ago it was either join your squeaky clean club or nothing, and now you've done a complete about-face. I want to know why."

"I took the time to think about your reasons rationally, once you were gone," he explains slowly, "and realized you were right. I'm sorry- I realize now that I  _was_  asking you to change who you are for me, and that wasn't fair. The truth is, it's you I've fallen for, Vivien.  _You,_  just as you are. I hope I haven't repeated my past mistakes and lost you, too. H-have I?"

You know, he's making it  _really_  fucking hard to stay mad at him. Seriously, Hank is a world-class apologizer and I-

Wait- did he say "past mistakes?"

Alright, now I'm curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem credit to Rainer Maria Rilke for "Love Song" and Robert Frost for "Nothing Gold Can Stay."


	46. Just You and Me, Together

**Just You and Me, Together**

I raise my eyebrows inquisitively. "'Mistakes?'"

Hank hesitates for just a second before his expression becomes rather resigned. Something tells me he just made the decision to share a deeply personal memory with me.

"Remember how I told you I didn't used to look like Beast? That I made a mistake with the formula I created?" he asks.

I nod.

"The serum wasn't just supposed to be for me," he says quietly. "It was meant for someone else, too. Raven Darkholme, the shape-shifter whose genes I used to create it. She hated the physical aspects of her mutation just as much as I did mine. We were going to take the serum together, but when it was ready she changed her mind."

"You loved her," I murmur. The words practically fly out of my mouth, but I know they're true the second I say them. Write it off as women's intuition, I guess.

"Yes," Hank agrees, and I can't help feeling a prick of jealousy over that. "But I was upset that she didn't want to be normal anymore. I looked at it like she was refusing the greatest gift I could ever give her, a normal life, and said terrible things to her. I told her the world would never look at her true form and see beauty."

Oh, Hank.

Remind me to never ask this guy if what I'm wearing makes me look fat, jeez. Diplomacy is  _clearly_  not his forte.

I can actually almost picture it in my head, him and this Raven woman. The wounded puzzlement on his face as she refused his gift, the growing frustration when she didn't respond _rationally,_  the way he expected, to his logical reasoning that the world would never think her beautiful.

But love  _isn't_  logical, you know? And sometimes you don't need the  _world_  to think you're beautiful, you just need one person. Hank definitely fucked that one up, back when he was young and dumb.

I'd like to think he learned from those mistakes, though, enough to recognize when he was making another of the same kind. Otherwise he wouldn't be sitting here saying these things to me, would he?

"I lost Raven because I couldn't accept her for who she was, and now I've gone and made the same mistake with you. And I'm so sorry for that. Tell me, am I too late to fix things? Please, Vivien, will you give me another chance?" he begs. "I want to try to make you happy, and... I don't want to lose the feeling I get when I'm around you. It's not normal, it doesn't make sense, and frankly, it frightens me a little, but-"

I know exactly what feeling he's talking about- because if I'm completely honest with myself, when I'm around him I feel it too. The way every nerve ending lights up when he's near me, how my heart gets so warm and fuzzy and my knees are all weak around him... It's scary, but also beautiful somehow. And right now, sitting next to Hank on this bench, I feel more alive than I ever have before.

He says he doesn't want to lose that feeling. Well I don't, either.

I lean in and kiss him, interrupting his pleading. "Apology accepted," I whisper, brushing my hand across his face.

"R-really?"

I nod, smiling a little at his hopeful incredulity, and purposely scoot nearer to him. I hook both of my legs over one of his thighs so we're as close as we can be without me being fully in his lap.

"I get it," I tell him, shrugging. "You're human, you make mistakes. And... apparently now I'm a huge sucker for big, goofy dorks with bad taste in fashion."

Hank lets out a relieved chuckle and leans in to kiss me. There's so much joy, and thankfulness, and  _love_  in this kiss- I can feel it louder than if he spoke the words aloud.

"Thank you," he murmurs fervently when we finally pull away to catch our breath, and he ducks his head under my hat so he can press his forehead to mine. Like he's just taking a second to savor this feeling.

God, with his eyes blissfully closed and that ecstatic grin on his face he's so damn beautiful it hurts.

And now he's  _mine._

"So... what happens next?" he tentatively asks after a few minutes, pulling away slightly so he can see my whole face.

I laugh, because it's pretty obvious that he didn't think this whole secret relationship thing through very much beforehand, even though he decided to give it a try. "Nothing has to happen next, Hank. We just...  _be._  You and me, together," I assure him.

Hank looks hesitant, which I guess shouldn't surprise me. I bet he's worrying about the X-Men and the Brotherhood.

"Out here, we're just Hank and Vivien," I explain, gesturing vaguely to indicate the non-mission setting. "Out here, the Brotherhood and the X-Men don't exist. Hank and Vivien have never been enemies, have they?"

"No," he agrees, "but Beast and Vixen-?"

I shrug. "We've never really had many run-ins with each other."

"My face would beg to differ," Hank mutters dryly.

Well ok, I  _have_  had to bash his face in a couple times. But come on, the first time we didn't even really know each other yet, and the second time I was trying to protect him from Myles. Those are some good reasons, right?

I struggle to hold back a giggle at Hank's expression. He's basically pouting right now and I'm pretty sure laughing at him wouldn't help, you know? "I said 'many,' not  _none_ ," I retort, tapping his nose with my finger. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't think much has to change on that front."

Let's face it- most of the time we've tried to stay away from each other on missions, anyway. I don't see it being a problem.

"But if it were to come down to choosing between you and the mission..." he murmurs.

"I want you to choose your mission," I reply seriously. "And I'll do the same. I think we can both understand that, right?"

One of the reasons I admire Hank is because of his commitment to doing what he believes is right. I don't want him to change that for me. I just hope he can do the same.

He still seems unconvinced, which I suppose I can understand. It's one thing to say this stuff here and now, cuddling up on a park bench, but the next time we meet in some warehouse- will we keep to our promises then?

"We've got to believe that anything is possible, baby, if we want it badly enough," I tell him. "If we want  _this_  badly enough."

For a second there I think Hank's about to change his mind and break my heart all over again. But then I guess he sees something in my gaze that convinces him, because after a minute or two the fear leaves his eyes and he nods in agreement.

Thank God.

I grin and cuddle against Hank's arm to hide my relief. "So- Central Park, huh?" I muse, changing the subject so he doesn't give himself an ulcer worrying about everything. "Was there a reason you wanted us to meet here for your big declaration?"

He shrugs with the shoulder I'm not leaning on. "It was the first place I could think of," he explains, "where we could come and speak alone. The only thing I worried about was one of us possibly getting mugged while we're here."

I roll my eyes and sniff at the gardenia he gave me. "I could floss my teeth with the perps that hang out here," I mutter. "You're safe with me."

Hank lets out a snort of laughter.

"But no, really- I was just wondering. I've always liked it here," I assure him, lest he think I was knocking his choice of venue. "It kinda has this air of ruined splendor, you know? And the colors are so gorgeous in the fall. While they last, at least. Hey- is that why you were reciting  _Nothing Gold Can Stay_?"

"Yeah," he replies sheepishly. "A little pretentious, I know."

"Oh, I don't know," I tease. "I think you knowing poetry is sexy."

Hank's ears immediately go red at the compliment. God, I honestly don't think he can get any cuter.

I giggle at his bashfulness before a thought strikes me. "Actually, I read a poem just this morning that reminded me of you," I admit. "I think it went-"

And I slowly recite the Rilke poem that prodded me into coming here to see him today. I feel kinda self-conscious about it, but the way Hank looks at me as he listens, with that special light in his eyes, makes the embarrassment fade pretty quickly.

"Rilke?" he guesses when I finish.

I nod, grinning because he'd actually heard of that one before.

Who  _doesn't_  love a man who knows and enjoys poetry, right? Especially when it's the same kind that  _I_  like?

Actually, I don't think anyone would ever expect us to have so much in common when it comes to our interests- we're just so very different from each other. After all, Hank is soft-spoken, shy, and a freaking super genius. And I'm, well,  _none_  of those things.

But for some reason that doesn't even matter for us. We just...  _get_  each other, I guess.

"That was-" Hank begins shyly, but then he falters. He clears his throat and tries again. "I see what you mean about a knowledge of poetry being 'sexy.' But I also think I could listen to you reading the dictionary and still find it erotic."

What a weirdly sweet, nerdy compliment.

I crack up laughing, so hard that I almost fall off the bench we're sitting on. "I love it when you talk dirty to me, Hank," I tell him, just to see his face flush again. Then I giggle and give him a kiss before rising to my feet. "Hey, want to go get something to eat? I know a good place a couple blocks over on the Upper East Side."

It hasn't really occurred to me until just now that I haven't had much of an appetite since I left him the other night. But now that we've patched things up it's back with a vengeance.

"What's it called?" Hank asks curiously. But rather than waiting for a reply he stands too and slips his hand over mine as we start to walk. I guess he's up for whatever, as long as it's with me.

Well, likewise.

I smile and lace my fingers with his. It's a perfect fit, just pure, hand-holding magic.

"The Lexington Candy Shop," I reply. He gives me an amused,  _really?_  sort of expression, which makes me add defensively, "oh, don't give me that look. It's actually just a diner. My kind of place, where they don't judge you for ordering an omelet whenever you feel like it."

"That certainly  _does_  sound like your sort of place," Hank agrees, laughing.

He seems completely at ease right now as we walk through the streets of New York City, hand-in-hand. I guess he realized that I was right about meeting out here- as long as we're careful enough to not be followed, no one's going to notice the X-Man and Brotherhood member hanging out together. In a city this big we're safe to just be another couple of faces in the crowd.

When we get to the restaurant I order first, at Hank's prompting. "I'll have chocolate chip pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon, please," I tell the waitress.

"To drink?"

"A chocolate milkshake, please."

"And you?" the waitress asks, turning towards Hank.

He gives me a conspiratorial look. "French toast, please."

I can't help laughing in delight at that, so much that I have to cover my mouth so the waitress doesn't see my fangs when she turns to give me this really confused look. Not all of us have a fancy serum to make us look human, ok?

"I'll make a convert out of you yet, just you wait," I tease Hank once she's gone. "And then you can join me in the fight against breakfast stigmatization."

"You can keep thinking that," he replies, laughing. "Though I should warn you not to hold your breath in the mean time."

I try to pretend to be wounded over that, but I can't manage it for more than a second or two. I'm smiling again almost immediately because I'm honestly just too happy right now.

And I think Hank is, too.

The entire time we're there he holds my hands across the table and watches me with that lit up expression in his eyes, the one that makes me feel all soft and gooey inside. I don't think I've  _ever_  seen him smile this much.

I'm going to take that as a good sign, that he's come to terms with the secrecy as a necessary evil for us to be together. Being together, that's the important part, right?

We sit there and talk for a long time, way after we finish our food. Neither of us wants to leave because we're just having too much fun.

As sad as it sounds, just sitting with Hank in this diner is probably the happiest I've ever been.


	47. A New Normal

**A New Normal**

Eventually, though, Hank sighs in resignation and reaches for the check.

"Need some help with that?" I ask, eyebrows raised. Because there's no need for him to act like a martyr before he's even asked if I'm willing to pay my own way, right?

"No," he replies. He pulls out his wallet and starts counting bills.

Ok, I can't decide if I'm irritated or amused over this. I mean, yeah, I liked it when he opened the door for me earlier, but he doesn't need to feel obligated to be the antiquated gentleman with me all the time, you know? I'm cool with gender equality.

"Women's lib is a thing now, you know," I comment.

"Yes, I know." Hank places the check on the table's edge.

"I'm happy to help pay the bill. Split it down the middle, at least?"

He sighs. "I know you can help, but I don't want you to."

I frown. "Am I some sort of fainting flower to you now?" I guess, my tone icy.

Hank chuckles. " _You_ , a fainting flower? Vivien, you could kill all of the men in here with a napkin," he replies. That honestly has to be one of the most flattering things anyone has  _ever_  said to me. "And besides, I owe you from our last date."

It takes me a second to remember teasing him about how I had to get the whole check back in that diner at Alkali Lake because he had no money, but then I laugh and say, "fair enough."

_Relax, Babineaux,_  I tell myself.  _That's just who Hank is. Just_  let _him be nice to you._

Not exactly something I'm used to. It might take me a while to stop questioning everything.

"Was this so terrible?" I ask as we drift back towards the Met, where Hank says he parked his car. I keep my tone light, but I actually want to know if sneaking out to see each other was really all that bad for him.

Hank squeezes my hand. I glance up at him with the question in my eyes, but he just shakes his head. "It wasn't terrible," he murmurs, bringing my hand up to his lips so he can kiss it. "Not at all. I quite enjoyed myself today."

I grin. "Me too."

At this point we've reached the front of the museum, so I stop walking and hop up onto the first step. That way I'm only a few inches shorter than Hank is for once. Then when he turns to face me I wrap my arms around his neck, and he puts his hands on my waist to hold me close. It's  _perfect,_  of course.

"I've gotta be careful with you, baby," I joke, "or you'll turn into a hunchback from leaning over so much."

"I'll manage," he assures me.

I giggle and lean in to kiss him.

Dear Lord, kissing Hank is enough to make me forget about _everything_ except the feeling of his lips on mine. I get so damn lost in him that it takes me a second to remember we can't really let ourselves get too overwhelmed in the current circumstances.

I reluctantly pull away, leaving us both gasping. "Phew," I huff, chuckling shakily. "Getting a little carried away there. And I don't want you to turn into Beast and end up on the evening news."

Hank grins, though I can tell he's embarrassed. "Sorry," he mutters.

"Don't be," I retort. I give him another kiss, followed by a nibble on his bottom lip. "Kissing you is way too much fun, Hank."

I swear to God, his knees actually buckle. "I-I could say the same about you," he stutters, to which I laugh. "So... when can I see you again?"

"So eager," I tease, but I'm actually flattered. How can I  _not_  want to see that sweet grin of his again as soon as I can? "What about us meeting here at the Met on Monday? Same time?"

He nods earnestly and reaches into his jacket pocket to produce a paper and pen. Jesus, what a boy scout. "This is my private number," he explains, writing something down and then offering it to me. "So if I don't answer, it's safe to leave a message. Call me if you can't make it or- or if you just want to talk."

I take the paper and smile at him sadly. "You know I can't give you a number to reach me at, right?"

Pretty sure it would  _not_  go well if Hank tried to call me up and got one of my brothers instead.

"That's ok," Hank replies. "I understand."

"Thank you," I whisper gratefully, stepping into his embrace. I feel so goddamn lucky that he agreed to give all of this a shot. That he believes what we have between us is worth it.  _So_  lucky. I tuck my face against his neck and murmur,  _"'parting is such sweet sorrow/ That I shall say good night til it be morrow.'_  I mean, Monday."

We both laugh, and then Hank kisses me goodbye.

I sigh as I watch him walk away.

We might be star-crossed lovers, but I really hope Hank and I don't end up like Romeo and Juliet.

He deserves so much better than that.

* * *

I'm feeling too good to want to go back to base right now, just because that means I'll have to hide my buzz. Instead I head over to Hell's Kitchen for a quick visit with my friends there, even though it's not my usual day for it.

"Hello, everyone," I announce as I approach their alleyway.

"Vivien," Betty greets me with a smile. "What a nice surprise."

"How's it going?" I ask her. "Is Theresa-?"

"Better than she was," she replies.

"Good," I murmur, smiling brightly. I'm glad to hear that Theresa's doing better in her journey towards sobriety. What an awesome day it's been-

Marcel suddenly whistles as he comes towards us. "Look at that smile," he comments. "You got some good news, baby girl?"

I giggle- Jesus, I sound like a complete airhead- and shrug. "Not really. It's just a nice day."

"Uh huh,  _sure_  it is," my friend retorts. "I've never seen you smile like that. Come on, Vivien, what you not telling?"

"Oh, leave her alone-" Betty begins to defend me.

"Is it about a boy?" Marcel prods.

_Damn. Got it in one._

My face, the traitor, immediately heats up a little.

"Oh, look at that!" he teases, while Betty's expression morphs into one of surprised delight. "It is!"

"Tell us about him, Vivien," Betty begs.

"I-"

"What are you guys doing over here, giving Vivien the Spanish Inquisition?" Theresa interjects, sidling up to us from further down the alley.

"She's got a  _boyfriend,"_  Marcel explains.

"What?" Theresa squawks. "Details, woman, details!" She starts to pull me over to one of the spots we normally hang out at. I kinda  _do_  feel like I'm going under the Spanish Inquisition right now, jeez. "Time for some girl talk."

Of course Marcel comes along, too. When Betty gives him a  _look_  he scoffs at her, "don't give me that look, Betty Mulligan. It ain't girl talk without me."

I laugh as all three of them line up like ducks in a row. Usually I'm a lot more guarded than this, but not today. Today I'm too damn happy about Hank to hide it.

It's hard to explain, but this feels both really weird and really- really  _nice_  at the same time. Having people who care about me, who just want to know about something that makes me happy so they can share that joy without passing any sort of judgment...

I don't think these people understand what a miracle they all are to me.

"What's his name?" Betty prompts.

"Is he cute?" Marcel asks.

"What's he do?" Theresa adds.

"Is he  _cute?"_

I giggle. "His name is Hank," I tell my over-eager audience. "He's twenty-nine and a scientist, and yes, Marcel, he's  _very_  cute. Tall, brown hair, big blue eyes-"

And I'm back to grinning like an idiot again just thinking about him. His expressions, his laugh, the way it felt when he kissed me-

"What does your family think of him?"

And with that question all of the light immediately vanishes from the day, like a solar eclipse or a candle being snuffed out.

"Vivien?" Theresa asks. Damn, I guess the dismay showed on my face. "What's wrong?"

"My family can't know about him," I admit quietly.

My friends look uncomfortable.

"Is it- is it a mutant thing?" Betty queries uncertainly. I can tell she's trying to be understanding but at the same time has no real frame of reference. Can't say I blame her on that. "Is he not a mutant, too?"

"He is," I reply. "But..."

_My brothers are crazy. They'd rather I was dead than with Hank. If they ever found out I think they might kill me for it, rather than just letting me be happy..._

"It's complicated," I mutter. "I can't really say more than that."

The others nod, though I can tell they don't really understand. I still appreciate that they're trying, though.

"Well-  _we're_  happy for you," Theresa announces, reaching out and squeezing my hand. "Right?"

"Definitely," Betty agrees, while Marcel nods earnestly.

"Of course," he says.

"Thank you," I tell them. "Seriously, you guys- that means a lot."

* * *

November 3, 1975

There's only three telephones at the Brotherhood base- one in Magneto's room, another in the meeting/ common room, and then one in the kitchen. Using the first is a big  _hell no_ , obviously, and I opt against using the common room phone because the space is too open and I don't want to risk anyone dropping in on me without warning.

That's how I find myself perched on the kitchen counter in the dark, dialing Hank's number late Sunday evening. I'm calling because I want to be sure our plans for tomorrow are unchanged.

And maybe I just like hearing his voice. So sue me, ok?

Hank answers on the second ring, his tone hopeful. _"Hello?"_

"Hi," I reply quietly. "It's me."

_"Vivien, hi,"_ he says, and I can hear a smile in his voice. Which of course makes me smile, too. I'm like some giddy teenager about him, I swear. _"I'm so glad you called. What's up?"_

"I just wanted to make sure we're still on for tomorrow."

_"Of course,"_ Hank tells me. _"I'm looking forward to it. I haven't been to the Met in years."_

"Same," I agree. And then to prove to him just how normal our relationship can be, despite all the secrecy, I decide to ask a really mundane question. "So... how was your weekend?"

_"Certainly not as eventful as the last,"_ he says, which makes me laugh. _"Though Sam- Cannonball, I mean- did tell me something interesting yesterday."_

Hank explains that Lucy is apparently going around telling people that  _she_  broke up with  _him,_  and not the other way around. He's going along with it, though, because if everyone thinks she dumped him no one will suspect that he ended things to go after  _me._

"Sounds like a real peach," I mutter spitefully. Because really, it's hard to picture Hank with  _anyone_  that petty and shallow. "Jesus. Was there anything you actually  _liked_ about her, Hank? Any common interests, at least?"

_"I don't know,"_ he admits sheepishly. _"It really felt like we had nothing in common at all. I asked her once if she liked to read, and she told me the only thing she reads is something called_ Cosmo  _magazine. Ever heard of it?"_

I chuckle quietly. "Yes. It's a woman's magazine. It's got some fashion in it, but a lot of it is about husband-hunting."

_"W-what?"_ He sounds completely flabbergasted.

"You know, tips on snagging a man so he'll marry you," I explain. "My God, it's like the whole thing was written by Mrs. Bennett. Making yourself attractive to some tall, rich doctor who'll save you from your working-class life."

So really, Hank's the perfect catch for a girl like Lucy.

_"That seems so... under-handed,"_ Hank mutters. Don't ask me why, but his moral outrage is kinda cute.

"Maybe," I agree. "Looks like you prefer  _my_  methods- bashing a guy's face in a couple times until he's brain damaged enough to go out with me."

_"I guess I do,"_ Hank says, and we both laugh.

A silence falls after we finally stop, but it's not awkward. For me, at least.

With his quiet breathing coming through the phone, if I close my eyes I can almost pretend that Hank's next to me. Not here in this kitchen, but somewhere else. Somewhere warm and safe and filled with his presence-

And then I hear footsteps coming down the hall.

Someone's coming.

"Shit," I whisper. "Gotta go. See you tomorrow-"

I blow a kiss into the receiver and hang up before Hank can reply. Then I grab an open bag of chips and shove my hand in, acting like I'm just chilling in here with a late-night snack.

Just in time, too.

A few seconds later Wanda comes in and flicks on the lights, blinking in surprise when she sees me sitting on the counter. "Vivien? What are you doing in here in the dark?"

I shrug and swallow my mouthful of Doritos. "It's not dark to me," I reply honestly. My night vision is about level with a cat's. I offer her the bag innocently. "Chips?"

_Phew,_  I think as she shakes her head in disgust.  _Crisis averted._


	48. They're Just Jealous

**They're Just Jealous**

November 4, 1974

"What do you think of this one?" I ask quietly, gesturing to the painting in front of us. We're currently standing in front of the  _Portrait of Madame X_  in the Met.

"Hmm?" Hank murmurs absently.

I glance up to see he's looking at  _me_  and not the painting.

"Are you bored?" And yeah, my tone is a little wounded. I thought he liked this stuff too, you know? At least he  _said_  he did...

He shakes his head earnestly. "No, of course not."

"Then why are you staring at me, you weirdo?" I demand in a whisper. He's got all this lovely artwork around him and instead he's looking at  _me?_  Sounds like a silent plea for us to leave if there ever was one.

"I'm not staring," Hank retorts. "I'm... I'm gazing upon you in adoration."

I snort loudly. I'm vaguely aware of the old couple next to us kinda giving us the evil eye, but whatever. "Cute," I tell Hank. Because really, not a bad save on his part. "But seriously, Hank, it's ok if you're not into this."

"I'm enjoying myself," he assures me.

"You sure?"

Hank nods and leans down to kiss me.

It starts off as a quick meeting of lips, but instead of pulling away completely he chooses to linger. Like he feels the same way I do- that every kiss just isn't enough, leaving us always wanting more from each other.

I grab onto his collar and tug him forward, and Hank turns towards me and pulls me against him-

A pointed cough behind him interrupts us, breaking us apart. The old woman with an attitude problem is glaring at us reproachfully.

"What?" I snap. You have no idea how hard it is not to bare my fangs at her. "You were young once, weren't you? A guy can't kiss his girlfriend without you getting all judgmental about it?"

Hank grins weakly and pulls me to a different part of the museum.

"Crotchety old bat," I mutter, though I don't struggle against him. "Stuck-up old biddy, being so damn nosy-"

"You're going to get us kicked out if you scold the other museum patrons," Hank whispers.

"They started it," I hiss, practically bristling with righteous indignation here. "And then  _you-_  you kissed me first! Why are you picking on  _me_?"

He looks a little guilty and quickly tries to change the subject. "What do you think of this one?" he asks, gesturing to the Monet painting in front of us.

I glower at him, but decide to answer anyway. "I'm not a fan of Impressionism."

"Why not?"

"The brush strokes," I explain, squinting at the canvas. "When they're that obvious my eyes focus on just those, rather than the whole painting. I guess it's a lot like having a smudge on your glasses."

"Feral super senses strike again," Hank murmurs.

I chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose so," I agree. And then an idea occurs to me. "Maybe we should break in here one night so you can look at the paintings as Beast! Then you can see what I mean for yourself."

He primly purses his lips.

"Oh, what now?"

"I'm not exactly comfortable with breaking and entering," he replies in a fussy tone.

"You break into places all the time. I mean, weren't you telling me you broke into the  _Pentagon_  last year?" I argue, laughing quietly. "Talk about ambitious."

"I  _did_  break into the Pentagon, but that was for a mission. I only break the law when I absolutely have to."

Presenting one Saint Hank, everybody. He's not big on the whole concept of moral flexibility, is he?

I roll my eyes and try not to smile. "You're such a-"

"Sanctimonious prick?" he suggests sardonically. "I do believe you called me that once."

And then right after I held a knife to his throat and threatened to kill him.

Seriously, what does this man even  _see_  in me?

I snort back laughter and reach up to fondly stroke his face. "Sometimes you are," I tease, but then his expression falls. "Oh, Hank, I'm  _joking._  The truth is, baby, I only called you that because I was jealous."

"Jealous of what?" he asks blankly.

"Of what a good person you are," I reply, to which he frowns in confusion. Oh, doesn't he  _see?_  "I wish I could be like that. You're a rare breed, Hank McCoy. Genuinely good people are very hard to find in this naughty world. And there you were that night, throwing how bad of a person I am in my face. I didn't exactly appreciate that."

"You're not a bad-"

I put a finger to his lips to quiet him. "Yes, I am," I admit painfully. I'm thinking of all the crap I've done since I joined the Brotherhood, and even before that. Stuff that I believed was right at the time, before I knew better. Before  _he_  pointed it out to me. "Don't try to defend me from myself, I don't deserve it. And _definitely_ don't try to defend the horrible things I've done. I did them because I thought they were necessary at the time, but there's a reason they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

Hank gently moves my hand from his mouth. "Vivien, sometimes good people make bad choices," he says. "It happens. But it's never too late to start making the right decisions. You can too, if you want it badly enough."

If only it were that easy, right?

I smile ruefully. "I don't know," I murmur, gesturing between us. "Clearly, seducing a saint is a lot easier than redeeming a sinner. It's like falling down a slippery slope versus making a completely uphill climb."

Suddenly I feel really guilty for asking Hank to sneak around with me like this. I mean, he's already sorta lying to the Professor and the other X-Men by not saying anything about us. What if this is just the first step down a rabbit hole for him?

_No,_  I tell myself firmly.  _I won't let him. I refuse._

Part of why I love Hank is  _because_  of his goodness, his strong morals. I won't let him lose that, even if it means losing  _him._

"Maybe we can meet in the middle somewhere," he offers quietly. "Or are you already having second thoughts about us?"

I chuckle bitterly. "No, I'm not having second thoughts. I'm generally a selfish creature, Hank. I want it all," I tell him. "I want you,  _and_  I want to make a difference in the world. I just- I just worry that I won't be able to have you without getting my dirty fingerprints all over you."

"Then wear gloves," he retorts.

I burst into giggles at that, of course. Not that I'm not still worried about the moral quandaries and everything, but a museum isn't really the place to have an existential crisis, is it?

Hank seems to agree, because he leans down to kiss me-

"Oh,  _really_  now!" an indignant female voice huffs behind us. Oh great, Ye Olde Hag and her fuddy-duddy husband have made their return just in time to catch us kissing again. Talk about bad timing. "George, go get security! This is a _museum_ , not a-"

Really, calling security on us for just  _kissing?_  Is she fucking  _jealous_  of us for being young and in love? I might be more willing to have pity for her if she wasn't being such a vicious old prude.

"Look, lady-" I snarl.

"Come on, sweetheart," Hank interjects hastily, pulling me towards the nearest exit. Some of the security guards are already coming our way.

"No, dammit, this is  _horseshit-"_  I hiss in outrage.

He sighs and braces his arm around my waist, so my feet aren't even really touching the ground anymore. "Yes, it is," he agrees as he half-carries, half-drags me out of the museum. "But they're not going to believe  _us_  over a respectable, older couple."

"Respectable, my ass," I growl. "Grumpy old shrew."

God knows why, but this makes him chuckle.

"What are  _you_  laughing about?" I demand through my teeth.

We're outside the Met at this point, so Hank finally lets me regain my feet. "I'm sorry," he says, reaching out to straighten my hat. His hands then drift down to cup my face. "It's just- your anger is amusing. And very endearing."

My eyes narrow and my lips start to curl in disgust.

"When it's not directed at me, at least," he adds hurriedly.

I have to resist the urge to kick him, keeping in mind that in his fragile, human state I'd probably break his kneecap if I did. Oh, I'll  _show_  him endearing, alright.

Hank sighs. "It's directed at me now, isn't it?"

"Yup." A smart man. Sometimes.

He looks slightly crestfallen. "Would a heartfelt apology and a trip to the Guggenheim make up for my indiscretion?" he asks hopefully.  _With_  puppy dog eyes, the bastard.

I sigh reluctantly. "I suppose."

"Then I whole-heartedly apologize for demeaning your righteous fury with my mirth," he says sincerely, taking my hands and kissing the palms of both. "I didn't mean to offend-"

I don't want to laugh at his deliberately exaggerated apology, I  _don't._  But I can't help it. "Oh Jesus, come on," I huff, dragging him towards the other museum.

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

November 22, 1974

"Hey, Viv," Fred greets me as usual when I visit his music shop a few weeks later.

I sigh. "Hello, Fred," I reply. "And it's Viv _ien_ , please."

For the thirteen hundredth time, I swear to God.

"Oh, right," he agrees. He follows me back to the acoustic guitars, just like he always does. "Come to visit your guitar again?"

_No, I'm heading in this direction for no goddamn reason._

I've been coming in here for months to play around for a bit every week- mostly because I don't want to bug Mr. Cole too much. I figure if I'm constantly asking him to play on the guitar I gave him he's going to start getting ideas of giving it back, and I don't want that.

So instead I've been coming here and putting up with Fred's stupid comments and hovering. Oh God, the  _hovering._

Yeah, I get that he seems to have a crush on me, ok? But the fact that he always "forgets" that I don't want to be called "Viv" drives me up the fucking wall. He doesn't  _know_  me, and the over-familiarity is irritating.

"So, Viv," he says now as I settle down with a guitar across my lap. "I was wondering..."

Uh oh.

"Wanna go grab a bite to eat sometime? Tomorrow night, maybe?"

Well this is awkward. I mean, even if Hank  _didn't_  exist, Fred's not exactly my type.

"Um... I don't know if my boyfriend would like that," I reply diplomatically.

"Boyfriend?" His incredulity is borderline offensive, damn.

"Yeah."

"Uh huh," Fred says dejectedly. Like he seriously thinks I'm just making it up.

It makes me want to throw something at him, Jesus. I mean, what's so unbelievable about  _me_  having a boyfriend? Just because I'm a short, freckled loner who spends  _hours_  at a time by herself in a music shop?

Some people, man.

"Maybe I'll bring him here sometime," I offer brightly.

"Maybe you should," Fred mutters sarcastically, before hastily moving away.

_Well, Fred. I accept that challenge._

* * *

November 25, 1974

"You come to this place often?" Hank asks curiously.

"Yeah," I reply. "At least once a week."

He nods, his expression intrigued as we walk towards Fred's music shop, arm-in-arm. Like he's looking forward to me sharing this with him, a place I spend so much time at.

We've been sneaking out to see each other for the past few weeks now- going to museums or the movies, or just sitting in coffee shops talking. Even though the time Hank patiently sat through a second-run showing of  _Romeo and Juliet_  has to be an honorable mention, I think the coffee shop dates are my favorite. I don't think I could ever get tired of just talking to this man.

"Hey, Viv," Fred calls out when I step through the door Hank opens for me. "Come to visit your- oh, you brought a guest?"

I grin as Hank follows me in and casually wraps his arm around my waist. "Yes," I reply sweetly, leaning into him a bit. "This is my  _boyfriend,_  Hank. Hank, this is Fred."

See _, Fred? Suck on that._

"How do you do?" Hank asks politely.

"Hi," Fred replies sullenly.

Far from feeling bad for the guy, I'm actually pretty damn relieved. Maybe now that he sees that I'm taken he'll stop hovering so much when I'm here.

But then again, maybe he won't be so happy for me to come here for hours and, you know, not buy anything.

Shit.

"Do you like being called 'Viv?'" Hank murmurs curiously as I lead him over to the acoustic guitars.

"Nope," I reply, grabbing a guitar and plopping down on the floor with it. "I correct him almost every week, but he still does that."

"I think he likes you," Hank notes, sitting across from me.

I roll my eyes. "I know. Usually he hovers around me while I play. It's annoying, but if letting him do that keeps him from kicking me out..."

"You realize you're basically using him, right?" he says.

Throwing my words about Lucy right back in my face, the brat. I glower at him, but Hank merely grins.

"Why do you come here, anyway?" he asks. "I thought you had a guitar?"

Oh yikes. This is about to get painful.


	49. Ill Met by Moonlight

**Ill Met by Moonlight**

"I can't afford a new one," I admit, strumming the guitar strings with the pick I always keep in my boot. "I had one, but... I gave it away."

"You gave it away?" Hank seems astonished.

I nod, not looking at him. I don't really want to talk about this, just because it involves my dad and he's dead and it  _was_  such a nice day out, until just now when everything kinda got this gloomy cast to it.

"Vivien, what's wrong?"

"It- it was my dad's guitar," I explain reluctantly, so the hard part's over with already. "He gave it to me the night he- you know."

Hank is suddenly watching me with this really intent expression. "You miss it, don't you?" Hank asks.

Well, duh.

"Yeah, of course," I reply.

"Then why-?"

Aw, come on, Hank. Isn't it obvious I don't want to talk about it?

"Because they needed it more than I did, and it was all I have to give," I impatiently tell him. Surely he understands stuff like that, right? Being such a compassionate guy and everything.

He's still for a moment before standing up so quickly it startles me. "Fred," he calls out, "I'd like to buy one of these guitars, please. And a case and strap."

"What are you doing?" I hiss.

Hank kneels back down in front of me. "Giving you something to trade your dad's guitar for," he explains, reaching out to touch my face gently. "Whoever you gave it to- ask if they'll accept this one instead. And even if they don't, at least you'll have one again."

Ok, I  _definitely_  wasn't expecting that. Oh my God, I'll actually be able to get Dad's guitar back! There's no way Mr. Cole will refuse, and if I have a brand new one to give him it'll be so much the better, you know?

Oh, my sweet Hank. How could I ever thank him enough for this? Shit, how will I ever  _repay_  him for this? I mean, there's no way I can just  _accept_  something this expensive. It's too much. It's just not right to take it without some sort of payment plan or something.

"I'll pay you back," I assure him.

"Don't. It's a gift," he replies firmly.

I bite my lip, still unsure. I mean, this is  _way_  bigger than him just buying my lunch or something. "Hank-"

"Please, Vivien, just let me do this for you," he coaxes. His big blue eyes are soft and warm,  _begging_  me right now. Begging me to just  _allow_  him do something so wonderful for me. How crazy is that?

Dear Lord, I love him.

And I don't think I'll ever deserve this man in a million fucking years. I mean, I'll  _try_  and everything, but let's be real here. I'm a damn lucky woman and I know it.

"Thank you," I whisper fervently.

I shove the guitar out of my lap and tackle Hank to the floor, knocking his glasses askew and rumpling up his nice shirt as I lean down to kiss him fiercely. Rather than shrinking away from my (admittedly kinda inappropriate in public) display of affection, he laces his fingers in my hair and kisses me back just as passionately.

Then a very irritated voice over my head breaks into our little love fest. "Hey!" Fred snaps huffily. "Could you  _not_  do that-?"

We pull apart reluctantly, gasping. I can't help giggling at the embarrassed flush on Hank's face as I slide off of him.

"Please excuse us," he says, sitting up and clearing his throat politely. "Do you take Visa?"

"Yeah," Fred replies sourly, stomping over to the cash register.

He sulks the whole time he's ringing us up and doesn't bother to say good-bye when we leave. But at least he doesn't call me "Viv" again, so there's that.

"I don't really think we'll be welcome there again, do you?" Hank observes as we walk back towards the subway station.

I laugh. "Nope."

"That's two places I've basically gotten kicked out of with you," he muses. "Are we going to make this a habit?"

I grin sheepishly and shrug. "Never a dull moment, right?"

"Indeed."

* * *

"There you are," James says when I get back to base. "I've been looking all over for you. Where have you been?"

"At this music shop in the East Village," I reply, which isn't even completely a lie, is it? "I think I told you about it, didn't I?"

He grunts. "Well we're having a meeting in five minutes."

Well shit. There went my good day.

I sigh. "Alright," I mutter reluctantly. "Let's get it over with, then."

As I pass by him on my way down the hall James wrinkles his nose in disgust, like he just smelled something rancid. "Gross. You smell like a human," he complains. "What the hell, Vivien?"

Aw fuck. He smells Hank on me.

"I took the subway," I say defensively. "It was pretty packed for a Monday afternoon. Actually, I sat next to this guy that was  _really_  cute-"

Also not a total lie. With the guitar he bought me taking up so much extra space I ended up sitting on Hank's lap for part of the ride. I honestly think both of us liked the excuse to be so close. I know  _I_  certainly did.

James' expression turns even uglier. He reaches out to grab onto my arm, but I dodge it. "You're better than some  _human_  punk on a subway," he growls. "Don't get any ideas. You hear me?"

Oh  _hell_  no.

I raise my eyebrows disdainfully and resist the urge to throat-punch him. "You're not the fucking boss of me, James. You better get that through your thick skull right now. You hear  _me?"_  I snarl. I start backing away down the hall again. "Now excuse me, I'm going to go wash up so I don't offend your bitch-ass sensibilities anymore. Tell the others I'll be there in fifteen."

_Phew. That was close,_  I think to myself as I hurry towards my room. Too _close. Why didn't I think to do that while I was at my safe house to drop off the guitar earlier? Damn._

It looks like I need to be more careful. From now on I think it'll be for the best if I stop at my safe house to wash up and change clothes after seeing Hank. That way my brothers won't catch his scent on me again.

With that decided I hurriedly rinse myself off in the shower and put on a clean dress so I'm not ridiculously late for the team meeting.

It's dead silent when I enter the room, even though the rest of the Brotherhood is already there. It might be the paranoia talking, but it kinda makes me feel like they were all talking about me right before I came within earshot.

"How nice of you to join us, Vixen," Magneto greets me coolly.

"Sorry I'm late," I reply, taking the seat between Peter and Myles. I make a stab for a penitent expression, but I'm pretty sure I'm not fooling anyone. "What'd I miss?"

"We're hitting another CFC factory tonight," Wanda explains helpfully from across the table.

Again?

"Why exactly do we need an aerosol propellant?" I blurt out, before I can think better of it.

James and Myles both make these sounds of obvious annoyance. Like I'm an  _embarrassment_  to them for being late and then having the audacity to ask questions. And then to make it even better Mastermind gives me this really teeth-clenching, condescending look down his nose at me.

Aw, damn. I left the fucks I was going to give in my purse.

Meanwhile, a flicker of begrudging respect passes over Magneto's face before being replaced with the irritated expression he usually wears when he deals with me nowadays.

"Is that what those are?" Peter asks curiously, his gaze shifting from me to his father. His obvious inquisitiveness seriously makes me want to smack him.

Why the hell is he alright with us stealing this stuff if he doesn't even know what it is? Does he trust his father so completely? Come on, Peter, use your head!

"Yeah," I reply. "It's Freon. It's in shaving cream cans and refrigerators."

Jesus, am I the only one who reads the labels on household goods?

"Why don't you tell us what else you know about CFCs?" Magneto prompts. He's now watching me like a hawk.

"I don't know much," I tell him honestly, shrugging. "I know that they're not really toxic and decently stable. Mostly non-reactive. I usually like stuff with a lot more  _boom,_ if you know what I mean."

Peter and Wanda both chuckle.

Magneto nods thoughtfully. "Very well," he murmurs. "Tonight I want all of you to-"

I open my mouth to interject- I mean, the bastard didn't even answer my question-

And then a hand grasps my wrist under the table.

It's Myles. When I glance over at him he earnestly shakes his head and gives me this pleading look, like he's silently asking me to keep quiet for once.

Well shit.

For a split second I consider shaking off his entreaties and pressing the point anyway, but then I decide to let it go. I don't want things to escalate into an argument that might set him off.

So even though it really sticks in my craw, I resolve to keep silent and listen to Magneto outline the plan of attack for tonight's mission.

It might be my imagination, but I could almost swear that our fearless leader sees this and gives my younger brother a tiny, approving nod.

* * *

I'm paired with Baby Bro for tonight's mission, something I'm not exactly thrilled about. I just can't get that little nod of Magneto's out of my mind, ok?

It feels like I'm being handled, almost. Manipulated into keeping my questions to myself for fear of pushing Myles into a psychotic episode. And the fact that  _Myles,_  my baby brother, is in on it, well-

Let's just say I feel the need to be very careful now more than ever.

It's time to start keeping my head down and stop drawing so much attention to myself with all of the questions. Something tells me Magneto is starting to keep me out of the loop- even  _more_  than before- and I need to get back in so I'm not flying blind anymore. Doing that means cooperating with his plans and praying to all that is holy that it's not too late to get off of his shit list.

Things look promising when we arrive at the factory- no employees hanging out after hours, barely any lights on. No signs of the X-Men, either.

Thank God.

Because I'd obviously rather  _not_  have to see Hank on a mission if it can be helped. I mean, I know it'll happen eventually and everything but I'd kinda prefer putting that off until the Rapture, you know? For all our agreement to set our alter egos aside when we're in the field I don't want to put it to the test.

What will we do if we see each other? If we have to fight? Can we forgive each other for whatever happens out here, away from our sunny days and coffee shops?

There's only one way to find out.

The Brotherhood splits up, as agreed, to infiltrate the factory loading dock from three different directions. Myles and I end up coming in through an office window in the quality assurance department.

"I'll take the point," he announces once we're inside, all proud and self-important.

I hold my hands up in submission. "Be my guest," I tell him. He completely misses the sarcasm.

We move through the hallways silently, with Myles in the lead as promised.

And then, just as we turn the corner for the last hall before the loading dock, we find the X-Men. It's Angel-

_Oh fuck me. Who else would it be?_

And Hank. Because that's just the luck I'm having tonight.

Myles and I both freeze, assessing the situation in silence.

Angel hasn't noticed either of us yet- he's too busy looking at his nails, the useless Pretty Boy.

Hank, though, Hank can see us.

He's looking right at me, too. I can see his face clearly, even though he probably can't see mine because of the obscuring shadows in the hall. His eyes are pleading with me to go away, to turn around and not force this confrontation.

_I wish, baby. Ill met by moonlight, right?_

God, is there a way we can get around them somehow? Maybe we can circle back and hit one of the other entrances-

Myles suddenly leaps from the shadows with a snarl, completely revealing his presence. I can tell he's trying to puff himself up, like a cat trying to intimidate our opponents into stepping aside for him.

_Oh for Christs' sake, Myles. I know he's got wings, but the dude's not a fucking parakeet._

"Goddammit, Myles," I hiss. I step into the light as well.

Angel jumps at our sudden appearance but recovers quickly. "Oh, great," he mutters sardonically, "it's Crazy Pants and his wicked sister."

_That's not helping, Bird Brain._

With a roar, my brother heads straight for the winged young man to take revenge for the insult.

Which leaves me to take on Hank.

_Fan-fucking-tastic._


	50. You Cannot Pass

**You Cannot Pass**

It's hard to believe that less than twelve hours ago we were making out on the floor of Fred's music shop. Just a normal couple out on a date, enjoying each other's company.

And now we're here, about to face off against each other over some stupid chemicals.

With a sigh I scoot around the spot where Myles and Angel are now grappling on the floor, heading for the loading dock. The loading dock, which is behind the doorway Hank is currently guarding.

_"You cannot pass,"_  he announces.

That stops me in my tracks for a second. Really, quoting Tolkien back at me? In any other situation I would've laughed at his attempt at humor.

I give him a sardonic look. "Says  _you_ ," I mutter sullenly. Using my own jokes against me, jeez.

After a moment's consideration I break into a sprint, running straight for Hank. He tenses up, obviously expecting me to dodge one way or the other-

But I don't.

Instead I drop into a foot-first baseball slide, my momentum easily carrying me forward on the tile flooring. This leaves Hank with basically two choices: either getting out of my way or letting me take him out at the knees and then squishing me when he falls.

He leaps to the side, which I guess I kinda expected. Ever the gentleman, my Hank.

I slide through the doorway and swiftly regain my feet, ready to take off down the hall for the loading dock.

I don't even make one step before my instincts flare, warning me of approaching danger. I sense Hank's incoming tackle from behind just in time to duck, sending him flying over my back. He manages to grab onto my arm as he clears me overhead, wrenching me forward to try to pin me to the floor.

Hank's not gripping my arm hard enough, though. It allows me to twist in mid-air so  _I_  land on top of  _him,_  straddling his hips.

I have to fight back a smile as he blinks up at me, completely puzzled over this turn of events. He wasn't expecting to end up underneath me somehow. God, his bewildered expression is  _adorable._

Even though I know damned well that I shouldn't, I reach out and tenderly stroke his face. Just one little gesture of affection to show him I still care, you know?

I spring to my feet and try to bolt-

Hank grabs my ankle and yanks backward, forcing me to lose my footing. When I land flat on my stomach he hastily scrambles over and grabs my wrists. One of his muscular legs is strong enough to hold both of mine down.

"Says me," he agrees belatedly. He leans down and sweetly kisses me on the cheek. "Why is the Brotherhood trying to steal an aerosol propellant, Vivien?"

I scowl at him.

My pride is wounded, dammit, because he caught me so easily. I definitely got too cocky there for a second,  _huge_  mistake on my part.

And then there's also this weird part of me that kinda...  _likes_  him pinning me down like this.

What? I  _told_  you I was damaged, didn't I?

"Vivien, answer me," Hank orders, shaking me slightly.

The fight in me melts in response to his persistence. "I don't know," I admit reluctantly.

He glares at me.

"What?" I snap. "I'm not lying to you. I never have. I honestly have no idea why Magneto wants this stuff, ok? None of us do."

I'm assuming that last part, but it seems like a logical conclusion because of how no one else seemed to even know what CFCs _are_  earlier tonight. It's not too much of a stretch to think that they wouldn't know what it's for, either.

"Doesn't that worry you at all?" Hank demands reproachfully.

"Of course it does," I retort, struggling against his grip. No joy, though- even though I can tell he's not even putting his full weight on me, I'd have better luck trying to shove a fucking boulder. "Ugh, get off me!"

He doesn't. Instead he flips me over so I'm face up, with my wrists still pinned. "You have no idea what his plan is, but you're going along with it anyway," Hank states. There's judgment and disappointment dripping from every word.

"Obviously," I reply. "I have to. You really think he's ever going to tell me what's going on if I'm not cooperating?"

That brings him up short, which actually kinda offends me. Does he really think I would allow myself to be so willfully blind at this point? Give me some credit here, jeez.

Hank is just opening his mouth to say something when he's hit hard in the ribs by a flying tackle from Myles. The blow knocks him off of me so I'm able to regain my feet and dart to Myles' side as Hank rolls away.

Both feral males recover themselves at the same time, each of them crouched and snarling at each other as they square off.

Oh sweet baby Jesus, no.

It's a nightmare made real, seeing my baby brother getting ready to fight the man I love.

_Please, Hank!_ I want to scream. _I know I said we'd separate ourselves from our relationship in the field, but please don't do this to me!_

Lord knows there's no reasoning with Myles, after all. Hank's the more rational one of the two, but even now he's probably fighting his feral instincts to beat my brother into a pulp for taking him away from me.

His mate.

_Oh God._

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Even though Hank hasn't marked me, on a deep, instinctual level I  _know_  I'm already his. My inner feral- Vixen or whatever- has already accepted his inner Beast as her mate, and he's already recognizes her as his. That's that. Everything else is just timing.

Realizing this should probably be a really beautiful moment and shit but I don't have time to get all mushy right now. I'm a little bit preoccupied with trying to figure out how to avoid a fight between my psycho brother and my secret boyfriend, dammit.

Hank clenches his fists and takes a deep breath. I can practically  _see_  him making the conscious decision not to fight for my sake, God bless him. "What'd you do to Angel?" he snarls at Myles.

Yeah, what  _did_  he do to Angel?

For a moment my gratitude towards Hank is eclipsed by a shared concern over his teammate. Knowing Myles, the guy might be a  _corpse_  at this point, or at least on the way there. And even though I don't particularly care for Mr. Fancy Pants, he's still a _person_ , and therefore worthy of compassion.

My brother's only answer is to just start laughing maniacally, like some sort of B-movie villain. It totally creeps me the fuck out.

Hank's gaze meets mine, a silent plea. He obviously wants us to make our exit, one way or the other, so he can check on his teammate.

"Jackal," I say firmly. "Come on."

"No," Myles retorts, watching Hank with laser-like focus. He shifts slightly, forcing Hank to mirror his movements and growl in warning. "I want to fight him."

"Well, you can't," I snap. "Remember our mission. We're not here for you to get into a pissing match with anyone. Now let's go."

I reach out and tug on his wrist, trying to lead him towards the loading dock. Who knew that it would be  _me_  trying so hard to complete the mission tonight, right?

But then Myles flings off my hand off.

_Well that stings._

"I'm not a little kid anymore, Vixen," he whines.

_Don't panic, Babineaux,_  I tell myself firmly.

"I know you're not," I reply, trying to stay calm. Getting agitated is only going to make him worse. "And that's why you need to think about your duty to our kind right now. Not your testosterone levels. Come on, Jackal. We're here for a reason."

What that reason  _is,_  I have no fucking idea. But still-

Myles hesitates, but then nods and begins to retreat from the standoff with Hank. Neither one relaxes their posture, though.

I can feel Hank watching me as we go. God, how much I wish he could hold me right now and tell me that somehow, someway, all of this shit will work itself out.

But I know he can't.

Right before we round the corner to the loading dock Myles points a finger at Hank and bares his fangs. "I owe you one, Beast," he warns.

It's a threat and a promise.

* * *

November 26, 1974

Going to visit my friends in Hell's Kitchen the next day is both a literal and a figurative escape for me. For just a few hours I'm able to get away from the suffocating atmosphere at the Brotherhood base and pretend that everything's not completely going to hell in my life.

This sort of escapism probably isn't  _healthy_  by any means, but cut me some slack. I'm just trying to make it through this shit without going crazy, ok?

On top of the canned goods I usually bring I've started to hit up a lot of thrift stores lately in an effort to get everybody warm clothes now that winter's coming. They all keep saying how grateful they are, but really I'm just trying to help out in any way I can.

"What you got there, baby girl?" Marcel asks once this week's delivery has been distributed.

But he's not talking about the Spaghetti-Os and jackets. He's talking about the guitar Hank bought for me, which is currently sitting in the little red wagon I used to bring everything here.

"You'll see," I tell him mysteriously. "Come on."

I grab the new guitar and lead the way back to Mr. Cole's spot, where he sits with my dad's instrument.

"Hello, Vivien," he says before I even greet him.

That stops me in my tracks. "You can hear me coming now, Mr. Cole?"

He laughs. "No," he admits. "I can smell ya, though. You always smell like flowers in the springtime."

I've heard about the other senses of blind people sharpening to compensate, but hot damn I'm impressed. I mean, I don't even wear perfume, you know?

"Thanks, I guess?" I say, chuckling. Then I set down the new guitar case with purpose. "So, Mr. Cole, I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?"

"See, I recently came into possession of a  _brand new_  guitar," I explain. I take his hand and set it on the case. "And I was wondering if you'd be willing to trade me for-"

Mr. Cole is holding out my dad's guitar case before I even finish the sentence.

I laugh in delight as I trade the instruments. "Thank you, Mr. Cole," I tell him sincerely.

He shakes his head and holds out his hand, searching for mine again. "No, thank  _you,_  Vivien," he replies. "I know how much that thing means to ya, but ya shared it with me anyway. You're a special kind of woman."

I snort. "If you say so," I say sarcastically. "But what do you say to testing your new guitar out?"

Mr. Cole's face lights up and he nods eagerly.

While we're settling ourselves down Marcel finally speaks up. "Where'd you get the new guitar, Vivien?" he asks, but he says it like he already knows the answer.

I smile shyly. "Hank bought it," I admit. "He didn't even ask who it was for. He just wanted me to have my dad's guitar back and hoped I'd be able to trade the new one for it."

Ok, maybe I'm just bragging now. But I can't really help it, ok?

Both Marcel and Mr. Cole seem impressed.

"Oh, this boy sounds like a keeper, Mr. Cole," Marcel stage whispers to the older man, who nods sagely.

"Are we ever gonna meet this young man?" Mr. Cole queries expectantly. He honest-to-God sounds like an uncle watching out for a beloved niece or something, bless his heart.

"Shoot, Mr. Cole, she ain't gonna want to have her beau meet a bunch of homeless bums," Marcel scolds before I can reply. "This Hank fella she's seeing is a  _scientist,_  you know. He's too high society for the likes of us."

The sad thing is that he seems completely serious. Not like he's trying to exaggerate in order for me to protest and prove him wrong at all.

Marcel honestly seems to believe that I wouldn't want Hank to know all of them, that I would be too ashamed of my friends being homeless to want my "high society" beau to meet them. And he doesn't even appear to be upset by that, just accepting of what he views as fact.

The truth is, I have a feeling Hank would  _love_  to meet these guys- if he doesn't hate me after last night, at least. He's one of the most compassionate people I've ever met. My friends being homeless wouldn't put him off at all.

"That's not true," I tell Marcel. "You're acting like I would feel ashamed of you guys, and I'm not. I'm proud you're my friends, Marcel. And Hank will be glad to meet you all, I promise. I'll bring him around eventually, ok?"

Marcel still seems doubtful, but nods.

"Alright, now that we've got that settled," I say brightly. "Mr. Cole, what do you want to play?"

It feels  _so_  damn good to have my dad's guitar back, to feel the strings between my fingers again. In a way it's like I just got an old friend back after a long absence and we're picking up right where we left off.

After last night, I really needed this.


	51. A Very Brotherhood Thanksgiving

**A Very Brotherhood Thanksgiving**

November 28, 1974

The next few days are busy for me, whether I want that or not, as we prepare for the upcoming holiday. Even the Brotherhood of Mutants celebrates Thanksgiving, you know.

"Isn't your dad German?" I ask Wanda as we begin our turkey day mission to put the rest of the team into a coma.

_Funny_  how the only two females of the group got stuck on kitchen detail, right? But I guess I'm not too surprised.

I mean, who else is there? Myles never bothered to learn to cook and James burns water, for crying out loud. Peter gets too impatient and I sure as hell can't picture Magneto basting a turkey and wearing an apron-

Ok, yes I can. That's actually a really amusing mental image...

But anyway, Mastermind might have some sort of hidden culinary skill, but who the fuck wants him around? No one, that's who.

So it's up to me and Wanda to take care of business.

"By birth, yeah," my friend replies to my question. "But I don't think he really considers that to be his homeland anymore."

"I guess Nazi death camps will do that to your sense of patriotism," I murmur.

"Yeah," she agrees soberly. But then she brightens up a little. "But that's ok. He doesn't need a country to have a people, right?  _Mutants_  are his people."

Does he not give a shit about other Jews anymore, then? Or did the Holocaust stomp that solidarity out of him, like he was ashamed of that part of himself after suffering so much because of it? Did the horrors of Auschwitz make him write off the human race completely, persecuted or not? Condemning the victims right along with the criminals?

I guess so, considering his beliefs about mutants being better than humans.

"Kinda ironic how he survived the Holocaust and now believes in a superior race," I muse absently. "Hypocritical, really."

Wanda freezes in the middle of forming dinner rolls, her eyes wide. "W-what?" she sputters.

Oops.

So much for keeping my head down, right? God, I suck at this.

"Nothing," I say quickly.

She opens her mouth to press me more, but is interrupted by a silver-haired blur entering the kitchen.

"How's it going in here, ladies?" Peter asks cheerfully, leaning against the counter. "When's dinner going to be ready?"

"When it's ready," I tell him. I pointedly avoid looking at Wanda, who I can sense is watching me with obvious disquiet.

Peter pouts. "But I'm  _hungry,"_  he complains.

I gesture to the pile of potatoes that still need peeling. "Feel free to speed up the process."

"Hey now," he says, backing away slightly with his hands raised. "I just came in to ask a question, not get pressed into servitude."

"Maybe you should've stayed out of the kitchen then," I retort sweetly. I hold out a peeling knife and bat my eyelashes at him. "Please, Peter?"

He grumbles and looks at his sister for back up. "Do I have to, Wanda?" he complains.

Her brother's presence makes the unease disappear from Wanda's expression. Like she purposely decides right then to forget about what I said and instead team up with me against Peter. "Well, if you want dinner on the table faster..."

"Fine," the speedster huffs.

In no time at all the potatoes are peeled.

"Now you can chop these vegetables," I say, shoving a pile of onion, celery and carrots at him.

"Hey-"

Wanda pokes him in the side. "To work, minion," she orders.

Both of us snicker at him, which I realize a little too late is a big mistake on our part when his expression goes sour. Peter doesn't mind being laughed at, as long as he's in on the joke.

But when he's not...

Immediately after our kitchen minion finishes with the vegetables I asked him to chop he stages a low level rebellion, darting around too fast for us to even see. Moving spoons after Wanda sets them down, stealing handfuls of the marshmallows I'm trying to sprinkle on the sweet potato casserole, eating the cheese we grated for the macaroni-

Oh, he makes us wish we'd let him go in the first place.

"Peter, go  _away,"_  Wanda complains. "You're making it take even  _longer."_

He laughs maniacally and snatches a fistful of the French-fried onions she's trying to put on the green bean casserole. "Too late now, Wanda."

"Peter, last chance to knock it off," I warn him.

He sticks his tongue out at me and steals some more of the cheese that I  _literally_  just finished grating to replace the stuff he took before.

Alright, that's it. Time to strike back.

I let my shoulders sag, as if admitting defeat to the Quicksilver Assault, and turn away. I grab a few kitchen knives and head over to the stove as if to finish getting the dressing ready for the oven. Then, pretending to turn around for something else, I throw them one after the other just right-

Pinning Peter to the wall by his jacket sleeves. You know, sometimes I really impress myself.

He gives me a look of pure betrayal. "Vixie! This is my favorite jacket!"

_Victory is mine!_

"You were warned," I tell him, shaking my head in disapproval. I step out into the hallway. "Hey, James! Come here real fast!"

My brother comes a lot quicker than I expected him to. "Dinner ready?" He asks eagerly.

"Not yet," I reply. I point behind me to where Peter is still stuck to the wall. "We've had a bit of a  _pest control_  problem."

James levels a dark look at the speedster. Get between him and food at your own risk. "I'll take care of it," he says. He keeps a good grip on Peter as he unpins him and then basically starts to march him out of the room.

Aw, he looks so dejected now. Like a puppy who got in trouble for making a mess on the carpet.

"Hey, Peter," I say as they're on their way out. "I'll make you a deal- you and me beat my brothers at football after dinner, I'll buy you a new jacket. Deal?"

He gives me that charming, boyish grin. "Deal."

* * *

November 29, 1974

I beat Hank to our meeting place in Central Park the next day and settle down to wait for him on a bench with a yawn.

I haven't really slept much since our confrontation with the X-Men on Monday. Staying busy during the day helps keep my mind off all of the absolute  _shit_  I have to worry about, but at night there's nothing to stop all of the disturbing thoughts swirling around in my head.

My gut's telling me that Magneto and the rest of the Brotherhood are hiding something from me. Something important. Why else would he dodge my questions? And my brothers  _help_  him with that?

Oh God, my brothers.

They're the only family I have left and I love them, but...

Am I a bad person for admitting that there are days when it's hard to remember that? When James seems to go out of his way to treat me like shit, or when Myles acts like a kid in a candy store at the thought of tearing a living, breathing  _person_  to pieces?

I hate to even consider it, but... I'm starting to wonder if my sisterly affection has a limit.

_Jesus, Babineaux, how can you even_  think _that? Of your own flesh and blood?_

I rise to my feet when I spy Hank approaching, my arms crossed. He doesn't smile as he looks me over. I kinda get the feeling he's getting ready to fuss at me, considering the way his gaze lingers on the shadows under my eyes.

"How is he?" I ask quietly. Hank will know who I mean. Was he able to save Angel after whatever my brother did to him? I can only imagine how hard Hank would take it if he couldn't.

"He's going to be fine," he assures me.

I relax a little bit. "Good."

That's one worry to put to rest, then. As for everything else-

I step closer and hug him fiercely around the waist, and when Hank wraps his arms around me it's the first time in  _days_  that I've felt even a semblance of peace. I try to snuggle in even closer, just trying to cling to that safe feeling I get when I'm around him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hank murmurs, stroking my hair.

I don't even move my face out of his shirt. "Nope."

"You sure?"

I lift my head just enough to rest my chin on his chest. "I'm  _positive,_  baby."

Just let me pretend for a few minutes that everything is ok, dammit. It's easy to do when I'm in his arms, breathing in his special Hank scent.

"Fine," he relents, sighing. "But Vivien- I want you to promise me something."

"What?" I ask warily.

"Please don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it."

I eye him speculatively for a moment, but he seems completely sincere. I understand what he's not saying- that if I figure out what the hell is going on with Magneto and want to stop it, Hank will help me if I ask.

"Ok," I agree reluctantly.

Not that I really mean it or anything. The  _last_  thing I want to do is drag Hank into all this garbage, he's got enough to worry about. And besides, I still prefer to operate alone.

"I have your word?" he presses.

I purse my lips unhappily. He's really going to twist my arm about this, isn't he? I mean, he  _knows_  how much keeping my word means to me. Damn.

But I guess I need to see it from Hank's point-of-view. As an X-Man, stopping Magneto from doing crazy shit is part of his  _job._  And...

And he cares about me, so he's just trying to keep me safe. I can take care of myself and everything, but I still can't fault him for that.

I finally nod. "You have my word, Hank."

He cups my face to bring me in for a sweet kiss. "Thank you," he says. "Here, let's sit."

Hank's eyes are smiling as we settle down on the bench together. I think he likes how I always sit with both of my legs swung over his thigh and cuddle against his arm whenever we're together. It makes him feel loved, I think, and I'm more than happy to oblige.

"How was your Thanksgiving?" he asks once we're comfortable.

I roll my eyes. "Pure madness," I reply. "It always is, when Peter's involved."

"How's that?"

So I tell him about Peter's tricks while Wanda and I tried to make dinner, and how I put a stop to it.

"But he made up for it when we played football after dinner," I explain, chuckling. "I threw him ten touchdown passes. We  _creamed_  my brothers. It was awesome."

I'd like to say it wasn't  _just_  because Peter was on my team, either. My throwing arm should totally get some credit.

Hank listens to me speak with this strange expression on his face, though he makes no interruptions. I guess it's hard for him to picture the rest of the Brotherhood as anything but his enemies.

But to me, they're- mostly- my friends. My family.

"You don't know them like I do, Hank," I say.

"No, I suppose I don't," he agrees.

"That's why I think there's some hope for them," I tell him earnestly. "Wanda and Peter- they're just there because Magneto is their dad and they're trying to make their father proud."

I search for the words to explain the problem with the twins. The blind faith they give to their father, how they've chosen to put the decision-making in his hands because it's easier, and they think it'll earn Magneto's love. It's sad, really.

"The twins aren't  _bad,_  Hank," I murmur. "Once those two have decided to trust you, they're loyal to a fault. Blindly so, really. And maybe... maybe they're used to taking the easy way out. But they're really not bad people."

"And Mastermind? Your brothers?" Hank asks.

I freeze, my expression falling.

Mastermind is a dick, plain and simple. But my brothers?

I have to admit that from an objective standpoint, my brothers  _aren't_  good people. Their cruelty towards weaker creatures, the way they seem to enjoy causing pain- they're not even  _nice_  to me a lot of the time. A lot of crap has happened to them, yeah, but does that really justify anything?

But they're still my family, and I  _can't_  give up on them, I can't. I've gotta keep trying. I made a promise to Mom, that I would look after Myles, and I can't go back on that.

"Never mind," Hank says quickly. He can tell how upset I just got. "Vivien-"

I shake my head and clear my throat. Subject closed.

"And how was  _your_  Thanksgiving, Hank?" I ask, trying to muster up a smile.

"About the same as yours," he replies, though he still looks worried for me. "Pure madness."

And he tells me about what a holiday at Xavier's is like, the craziness that comes from a bunch of young mutants celebrating an occasion. He even manages to make me laugh and forget, just for a little while, all of the problems in front of me. I know he's here for me, but I have to figure this crap out on my own.

Until then, though, I will  _gladly_  let Hank McCoy be my escape.


	52. Project Find-Hank-A-Gift

  **Project Find-Hank-A-Gift**

December 19, 1974

"I was wondering..." Hank begins.

"Aren't you always?" I tease. He makes a face at me, to which I laugh. "Stop stalling, baby, it's your move."

We're currently playing chess and sipping on hot chocolate to offset the chilly air in Washington Square Park. I actually didn't know how to play the game until Hank taught me earlier, but so far it's been a  _blast._  I've already won two games, and I'd say I'm about two or three moves from a third.

He sighs and furrows his brow, concentrating hard on the board. I giggle and prop my elbows on the table, resting my chin on the heels of my hands.

"What?"

"Nothing," I reply blithely, grinning. "You're just very sexy when you concentrate."

What? He  _is._

God, I wish I could see Hank in his laboratory. I can imagine the intent look on his face as he does the science he loves, how appealing he would be without even trying in this sexy-nerd sort of way.

Plus, I bet he looks so damn  _hot_  in his lab coat.

He coughs, his cheeks flushing slightly. "You're cheating," he accuses.

"How?" I demand, gasping in offense.

"You're purposely distracting me."

"Am not!" I counter. "How could you accuse me of such a thing?"

"Your smile," Hank explains, giving me a winsome grin of his own. I honestly can't tell if he's being serious or not. "I can't focus when you smile at me like that."

I snort derisively, though I'm actually kinda flattered. "That better?" I ask, covering my face with my hands.

"Not really, but..." he trails off helplessly. I peek through my fingers just a little to see him looking at the chessboard rather hopelessly.

I broaden the gap between my fingers enough that he can see my eyes. "Did you move yet?"

He bursts into laughter and finally moves his knight.

Just as I expected him to do.

Hank told me that eventually, as I got more practice with the game, I'd be able to anticipate my opposition's movements. I don't think he expected me to start doing that  _quite_  so fast.

I immediately use my bishop to take his queen. "Check."

Hank stares in consternation at the board for a moment before slumping back in his chair. "My stars and garters," he mutters helplessly. "Have you truly never played chess before?"

"Truly," I reply. I take a sip of my hot chocolate and shrug. "Maybe I've got some beginner's luck going for me. Don't beat yourself up-"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm actually not surprised. You're much smarter than you give yourself credit for, darling," he tells me, a fond expression on his face. "If only..."

If only.

If only I'd been able to go to school like a normal kid. If only my parents didn't die, so I could go off on my own without worrying about James and Myles. Who knows where I'd be now? Maybe finishing college, making plans to get a teaching degree?

But we'll never know, will we?

Hank winces and tries to change the subject when he sees my expression fall. "I wonder how you'd fare against Charles," he muses.

"Is he really good or something?"

"Very," Hank replies. "But I actually think you'd give him a run for his money. He used to play with Erik all the time, before..."

"Before Cuba," I finish for him. He told me all about Cuba and the formation of the X-Men, and then about how that Logan guy we saw back at Alkali Lake came back from the future to save everyone. It sounded completely crazy, but Hank assured me it was all true.

He kinda skimmed over the intervening decade, though- I have a feeling it's because it was very painful for him, having to be responsible for the Professor's care. But I didn't press him on it. He'll tell me eventually, I know he will.

Just like one day I'll tell him about all the skeletons in  _my_  closet, whenever I feel like he's ready to greet them with firm handshakes instead of, you know, running away screaming.

"Yeah," Hank agrees. He looks down at the chessboard for a minute and lets out an irritated sigh. "I'm debating if I should try to get myself out of this mess or just gracefully concede defeat."

I giggle and duck my head coyly. "Up to you," I tell him, looking at him through my eyelashes.

His goofy, besotted grin kinda takes my breath away- I don't really think he understands just how charming he is, you know? He reaches out and takes my hands in his. "I think I surrender," he murmurs, standing slightly and leaning across the table to kiss me.

"Hmm. Then I graciously accept your surrender," I tell him, kissing him again.

Hank chuckles and settles back down in his seat, still holding my hands. He looks down at them for a moment and runs his thumbs over my fingers in an affectionate caress before meeting my gaze with his. He begins hopefully, "so I was wondering..."

"We're back to that again?" I ask, laughing.

"Yes, well, you distracted me.  _Again,"_  he retorts, though the reproach is softened by a smile. His expression then becomes earnest. "I was wondering if you'd like to meet on Christmas Eve, so I can give you your gift."

Aw, he's getting me a present?

Crap, that means I better get one for him, too.

I suck at gift-giving in general just because I haven't had much practice, I guess you could say. I mean, we did Christmas when we were kids, but since Mom and Dad died we've been more focused on survival than anything else. Last year I kinda half-assed presents for my brothers and the twins, though I've never bothered with anyone else.

But actually, getting Hank presents might be fun.

"When's your birthday?" I ask curiously.

"October 14th."

I frown. "Well shit. That means I've already missed it this year," I gripe. His birthday wasn't even two weeks before I came to the mansion. "Just barely, too."

He shrugs dismissively.  _Why_  does it not surprise me that he doesn't care about his own birthday? Typical Hank. "When's yours?"

"January 1st," I reply.

Hank's eyes go wide. "So soon," he murmurs. "I better-"

I shake my head. "You don't have to-"

"I want to," he replies firmly. "But first things first, darling. Christmas Eve?"

I count the days in my head. "I can't," I admit.

"Oh," Hank says, deflating a bit. "D-do you have other plans?"

"It's Tuesday, so sorta," I tell him. I always go to visit Hell's Kitchen on Tuesdays, and I don't want to stop now. But then again... "You know what? I want you to come with me."

"Come where?"

"You'll see, baby," I reply, grinning mischievously. "Meet me on the corner of 43rd and 11th at ten, and dress warm."

I think it's finally time for him to meet my friends.

* * *

December 20, 1974

It doesn't take me long to land on a gift idea for Hank. I'll get him a book, of course! What  _else_  would you get for a super nerd?

Yeah, I know it's kinda cliche and unimaginative, but come on. Sometimes cliches are cliches because they  _work._

Still, it can't just be  _any_  book. It's gotta be special, you know? Meaningful in some way. I'm not really sure  _how,_  but I'm hoping I'll know the right one when I see it.

With that in mind I set out for this old school book shop in Greenwich Village that Hank and I found a couple weeks back.

"Is it weird that the smell of old books has to be pretty much my favorite smell in the whole world?" I asked him that day, as we strolled through the aisles.

Hank just shrugged and gave me that adorable grin of his. "I certainly don't think so," he replied. "Especially since the scent of old books happens to be  _my_ second favorite."

"What's the first, then?"

He leaned down to kiss and nuzzle my hair. "You," he said, inhaling deeply. "You always smell like sunshine and flowers, it's lovely."

I laughed. "God, you're  _such_  a cheeseball," I told him. But I have to admit, I was kinda flattered. My sweet, adorable Hank.

The bells over the door barely tinkle to acknowledge my entrance when I step inside the shop this time. It's empty save for the clerk at the front desk, who seems so absorbed in whatever he's doing that he doesn't even notice me come in.

Alright, time to get down to business.

I spend the next half hour or so trying to find the perfect book to give to Hank. Something about physics? Art history? Classic fiction or something newer?

I'm debating the merits of getting him a copy of  _War and Peace_ \- I mean, hey, at least it'll occupy him for a while, right?- when the bell over the door tinkles, meaning someone just stepped inside.

I don't pay that any mind until I hear a gruff voice near the counter say, "I want all the cash in the register, Four-Eyes."

_Well hello there. Someone left their Christmas spirit at home today._

I peek around a bookcase to survey the scene.

There's a big, burly dude pointing a knife at the poor clerk, who's holding up his hands helplessly. "Uh- I, um-"

_"Now,"_  Mr. Knife Guy snaps.

"But there isn't much-"

"I don't give a shit, just do it!" the man shouts angrily. For emphasis he reaches out and tears a page out of the book laying on the counter between them.

"Don't!" the bespectacled clerk whimpers, horrified. "This book is over two hundred years old! You can't just-"

The asshole just rips another page out. "Better hurry, then, you whiny little bitch."

Some people have no respect for the written word, do they? Jesus.

I think that was officially my cue.

"Hey, dickhead!" I call out, stepping out from behind the bookcase.

The guy starts to turn towards me, startled-

"Catch!"

And I throw Tolstoy's masterpiece right at the man's head.

It's a perfect hit. The guy immediately collapses in a heap from the shot straight to the temple.

I approach the counter where the shaking clerk is now looking between me and the downed assailant with a flabbergasted expression. "Are you alright?" I ask him.

He nods, eyes wide, but doesn't react otherwise. This guy isn't exactly good in a crisis, is he?

"Uh, you  _might_  want to call the cops," I suggest. "Unless you want this guy to be a new in-store feature?"

The clerk shakes himself. "R-right," he agrees.

I pick up the torn pages and lay them out while he places the call. They're pale yellow and crumbling, clearly very old. After studying them for a moment I realize they're from  _Robinson Crusoe_.

"The police will be arriving soon," the clerk tells me once he rings off. "I can't thank you enough, ma'am."

"No problem," I reply.

"How did you-?"

"I've got a good arm. I played fast-pitch softball for ten years, and it was the first thing I could think to do," I lie. To quickly change the subject I gesture to the damaged book. "Can you save it?"

He shakes his head sadly, closing it and running his hand along the cover. "It'll never be the same again," he says mournfully. "What a pity, it was in such good condition."

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "Do you collect old books?"

"Oh, yes," he replies. He points to a shelf behind him with obvious pride. "First editions, all of them."

I skim the spines, taking in the titles. My gaze is drawn to one in particular-  _Le Comte de Monte-Cristo._ The book Hank and I agreed was a close contender against  _Pride and Prejudice_  back at Alkali Lake.

Perfect.

"Do you sell them, as well?" I ask hopefully.

The clerk nods, though he suddenly seems reluctant. "Occasionally," he admits.

"How much would you want for  _The Count of Monte-Cristo?_ "

"It's in French, you know," he says stiffly.

Well hey. Even if I wanted the book for myself I bet I could figure out most of it if I tried, considering I've known Cajun since I was a kid. It's obviously not the same, but they're in the same neighborhood, right?

Despite his lack of enthusiasm I press on. I'm not ready to give up hope yet. "I understand," I reply. "But it's not for me. I actually came in here looking for a present for my boyfriend, and that would be per-"

Mr. Attempted Armed Robber chooses that moment to stir.

"Oh, one second," I mutter. Then I give him a swift kick in the head to send him back to Dreamland. "There we go."

The clerk suddenly looks a little guilty. "I suppose I can make you a deal," he says thoughtfully. "It's the least I can do, after you so kindly helped me."

"Really? That'd be great!" I tell him. I bend down and grab  _War and Peace_. "I'll take this too, please. I've already read it, but it kinda makes a good weapon, don't you think?"

He looks at me like I'm crazy for that, but whatever. At least he didn't get robbed.

I'm out the door with my purchases and on my way before the even cops arrive, which is good, because I'm not exactly comfortable speaking to the law.

But still- I'd say that's Project Find-Hank-A-Gift completed, wouldn't you?


	53. A Different Way to Spend Christmas Eve

**A Different Way to Spend Christmas Eve**

December 24, 1974

"Hey, Vixie," Peter calls out behind me in the hallway. "Where you going?"

I freeze mid-step and turn to face him. "Out," I reply carefully.

He zips over to stand next to me. "Where could you be going on Christmas Eve?" he asks, his expression curious.

_Be careful, Babineaux._

"I wanted to go give some clothes and stuff to the Salvation Army," I explain blithely. It hurts to lie to Peter like this. The only consolation is that in this falsehood there's a grain of truth- I  _am_  doing a kind of charity work in Hell's Kitchen, after all.

He stares at me blankly for a long moment and then shakes his head.

"What?" I demand.

"Just- why bother with that kind of thing?" he mutters.

It takes everything in me not to yell at him for that comment. Why  _bother?_  Because if you see shit happening, people  _suffering,_  and don't lift a finger, you're part of the damn problem. That's why.

But I have to remind myself that Peter's still young, and even though his childhood wasn't perfect by any means he still grew up relatively sheltered from that sort of thing. Just a kid from the suburbs who stole stuff because it gave him a thrill, not out of want for anything.

He's always in such a rush all the time. Maybe if he slowed down a little he would be able to see the plight of people around him more.

"If not me, then who?" I tell him simply.

I've already turned away and taken a few steps before he blurts out, "you go out a lot. Why is that? Do you not like it here?"

Well shit.

I turn to face Peter again and note the hurt in his big, dark eyes. I've never been one for sticking around base much, even  _before_  I started seeing Hank. It seems like somehow Peter is taking that personally. "Not really," I admit reluctantly. "I don't like being cooped up anywhere. It's got nothing to do with you, though, Peter."

"So can I come with you, then?"

Aw man.

By some miracle I keep my sudden unease out of my expression, instead feigning incredulity. "You really want to go hand out clothes and serve up food at a soup kitchen?"

His nose wrinkles in distaste. "Not really."

I force myself to laugh, a cover for my relief. "That's what I thought. But how about we go to the movies on Thursday?" I suggest. That way he won't feel excluded anymore- and more importantly, suspicious of my outings.

He brightens immediately. "Ok."

"Alright," I say, backing away. "See you later, ok?"

"See you."

I head to the garage and lean against my car to gather my thoughts for a moment before I get in.

For whatever reason, I feel like I just dodged a huge bullet.

* * *

My little chat with Peter leaves me running late for meeting Hank. I have to hurry to my safe house to change clothes, grab my father's guitar, and put all of the stuff I gathered for this week into the little wagon I use before heading for the corner I promised to meet him at.

_Hopefully he's ok,_  I think to myself as I rush out the door and into the street.

Poor Hank will probably stick out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood, he's so obviously a nerdy boy scout type. I'm just hoping that doesn't attract too much attention because that might get him into trouble with-

Oh God dammit.

I spy Hank easily from a distance because of his height, and I can see that he's looking down at someone with anger as he fiddles with his coat sleeve.

Angry Hank is a very rare thing. Angry Hank is also a very  _not good_  thing- I don't want him going all Beastie Boy in broad daylight. What the hell-?

Oh my God, he's being robbed at knife point. It seems like that sort of thing is happening a lot lately, Jesus.

I drop my stuff and take off down the sidewalk, grabbing one of my own knives from under my skirt as I go. I arrive so quickly the bastard robbing my boyfriend doesn't even have time to react before I pinch his earlobe with my fingers with one hand and hold a knife to his throat with the other.

The man lets out a strangled cry as soon as he realizes his predicament.

"What have we here?" I purr. My tone is light and teasing, because in my experience no one's going to take a pipsqueak like me seriously if I try to play it tough. "A little bit of attempted petty theft?"

"Let me go," he whines. "You bi-"

"Manners," I snap, yanking on his ear. He whimpers in pain as my blade presses into his skin. "Being rude to the girl who has a knife to your throat probably isn't the best idea."

_Plus, you threatened my Hank._  Big _mistake._

"Now, I want you to drop the knife-"

His knife clatters to the ground.

I stand on tiptoe and lean close to his ear. "And run," I whisper menacingly, releasing him.

The guy stumbles slightly and then hightails it out of there without a second glance. What a chickenshit.

"Hi, baby," I say brightly, like I didn't just interrupt an attempted robbery. I slide my knife back under my dress and step closer for a kiss. "Sorry I'm late."

"On the contrary, your timing was perfect," Hank replies. His expression is this flattering mixture of relief and admiration for how I handled the situation.

I laugh and head back down the street for my guitar and the wagon, sitting abandoned on the sidewalk.

"What's this for?" he asks curiously, trailing after me.

"My friends."

Hank still looks puzzled, but he takes the wagon's handle from me and falls into step without complaint.

I lead him by the hand a block over to the alleyway my friends live in. They all perk up when they see me coming.

"It's Vivien! Vivien's here!" Harry, one of the guys, calls out. "Merry Christmas, Vivien! Who's that with you?"

I squeeze Hank's hand in reassurance before stepping forward to give everyone hugs.

"Merry Christmas!" I tell everyone as the week's haul is distributed. Spotting Betty, I tell her, "I found some good shoes for Johnny, for now. And a race car to play with. I hope that was ok?"

"Oh, Vivien. Bless you," she whispers, embracing me tightly.

I turn back towards Hank to see that Marcel has already scooted on up to him.

"You Vivien's beau?"

Hank clears his throat. "Yes," he replies.

Marcel smirks. "You pretty cute."

"Um-"

"Don't tease him, Marcel," I chide, coming over to rescue Hank and make proper introductions. I loop my free hand through his arm and smile. "Hank, this is my friend Marcel. Marcel, this is Hank."

"Hi," Hank says awkwardly.

"Hi," Marcel replies, grinning. His next words are at me. "You better keep an eye on your boy, baby girl. Don't want no one to steal him."

I laugh at the blush on Hank's face. "I'll keep that in mind," I joke. "Where's Mr. Cole?"

"His usual spot," Marcel says, gesturing down the alleyway. "I'll be there in a sec."

I nod and lead Hank forward, introducing him to Betty, Theresa, and Harry. Hank is unfailingly polite, though I can sorta sense his bemusement over the whole situation.

"You ok?" I whisper.

"I'm fine, but- what exactly's going on?" he murmurs. "Are they human? Do they know what you are?"

Of course Hank would notice that I've been showing my fangs when I smile. He's too observant not to.

"They're human, yes. And they know what I am," I tell him. I suddenly feel a little shy as I explain, "I've been coming here for months, bringing them food and trying to help out."

He raises his eyebrows.

"I don't know. I guess what you said back at Alkali Lake really did stick with me," I say, shrugging. "How mutants are the monsters in peoples' closets. I was just trying to think of a way to show humans that we're not, even if it was just a few of them."

Especially people like these guys, who welcomed me with open arms.

"You're amazing," Hank whispers, looking at me with this awestruck expression.

I feel my cheeks heating up. "I didn't bring you here to show off, Hank," I mutter. "It's just- there's so many things I can't share with you about my life. But this, this I can."

He leans down and kisses me, in full view of everyone. Clearly the idea of me trying to include him in my life as much as I can makes Hank  _very_  happy. And that makes me happy, too.

I'm still a little flushed when he pulls away. "Over here," I say, gesturing to Mr. Cole. He's sitting against the wall with his guitar in his lap. "Hello, Mr. Cole."

"Vivien," Mr. Cole replies, smiling broadly. He holds out a searching hand, which I step away from Hank to kneel and take. "Ya brought a guest?"

"I did," I agree. Time for some formal introductions. "Hank, this is Mr. Cole. Mr. Cole, this is my boyfriend, Hank. He's the one that bought you the new guitar."

"Great to be able to thank ya in person," Mr. Cole says genially.

During this whole exchange he's been staring straight ahead, rather than at us. I'm used to it at this point, but Hank-

"It was no trouble," Hank assures him. He kneels down and gently touches Mr. Cole's wrist, an offer for a handshake that's readily accepted. It's obvious he already realized that the older man is blind. "It's nice to meet your, sir."

God, seeing Hank treat Mr. Cole, who's kinda taken on the role of a loving uncle to me, with such courteous respect makes me wish so much that he could've met my father. Dad would've  _loved_  him, I'm sure of it.

"Nice, firm grip he has," Mr. Cole observes to me. "He good to ya?"

I give Hank a sideways glance and grin when I see him blushing. "Yes."

"I'm glad," Mr. Cole says. "Ya deserve a blessin', after everything you've done for us 'round here. Hank, ya better treat this girl right. She's one-in-a-million."

Hank grins sheepishly. "I intend to," he murmurs.

I laugh at the good-natured warning. "Do you feel like playing today, Mr. Cole?"

"I always feel like playin'," he replies, cradling the guitar in his lap. "Ya gave me music again after missin' it for twenty years. I've got some time to make up for."

"Do you mind?" I ask Hank.

"No, of course not."

So we all settle down and play for a while. Now that Mr. Cole and I both have guitars we've been having a lot of fun lately doing this thing where one of us starts to strum out chords and the other adds a melody over the rhythm. The others in the group like to sit around and listen to us basically make up songs on the fly. Marcel joins in sometimes, too, by tapping out a rhythm on his thighs and the ground. He also keeps badgering me until I sing for everyone, the punk.

It's late afternoon by the time me and Hank take our leave.

"I'll see you next week," I promise them all, waving as we go.

"I hope you bring your boy toy, too," Marcel remarks, with a lascivious wink in Hank's direction. Then he leans in and whispers to me, "the way that man looks at you, baby girl! You've got him sprung, for sure."

My cheeks flush up again.  _"Bye,_  Marcel," I say, but I can't help giggling.

"What was that about?" Hank asks as we walk away.

"Nothing," I reply shyly. I quickly change the subject. "So what did you think? Definitely a different way to spend Christmas Eve, right?"

"I'd like to go back with you, if you don't mind," he tells me. "I'll bring some stuff, too."

I smile. "Yeah?"

Hank nods, grinning too. "Yes. You're doing something wonderful for those people, Vivien," he says.

If he says so. I mean, canned goods and a jacket doesn't put a roof over their heads or anything, you know? I wish I could do more for my friends but I'm really at a loss on how.

"It doesn't feel like enough," I murmur, too quietly for Hank to hear.

"I still need to give you your Christmas present," he says after a minute.

I freeze in my tracks. "Shit, your present!" I hiss, smacking myself on the forehead. "I left it at-"

At my safe house. In my rush to meet him earlier I forgot to grab it.

I eye Hank speculatively. Should I...?

"It's ok," he assures me. "You didn't have to get me anything, any-"

"Hank, knock it off. I'm giving you a present," I retort sternly. "It's just-"

I sigh and make a big decision. A decision to trust Hank completely, to let him see the place that I've never let anyone else know about.

"It looks like it's my day for over-sharing," I mutter, and start walking. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Hank asks, dragging the empty wagon behind him. He looks a little ridiculous, this grown man with a little red wagon, but it's also kinda cute.

"My apartment. It's only five blocks from here," I reply.

"Your apartment?"

"Yeah," I say. "Come on, I'll explain when we get there."


	54. In the Eye of the Beholder

**In the Eye of the Beholder**

I'm a little nervous as I let Hank into my safe house.

What's he going to think of it? After all, it's just a tiny studio apartment, nothing  _at all_  like the ritzy mansion he's lived in for years. The only furniture I've got are some bookcases, a card table and folding chair, a dresser and a box spring and mattress set. Everything's neat and tidy, though, so that has to count for something. Right?

"I know it's not much, but it serves its purpose," I tell Hank, shrugging.

"And what purpose is that?"

I give him a rueful smile and cross the room over to the bed. I plop down on the mattress and pat the space next to me, an invitation to take a seat.

Hank seems a little hesitant as he sits down. The fact that there's a bed added to the equation between us now seems to have put him on high alert.

I get that. After all, we haven't been able to do anything other than kiss a little bit since that hot make out session in the X-mansion's music room, because we can't let him Beast-out in public.

But now we're  _not_  in public. We're completely alone, with no worries about anyone interrupting us. I  _definitely_  wouldn't mind if we took advantage of that at some point, since we've barely had a chance to explore that side of our relationship thus far.

Hank tenses up a little when I slip my legs over his thigh. It's the way I usually sit, but right now the closeness seems to be making him anxious. Not because he doesn't want it- or at least I  _hope_  that's not the reason- but more because this is so new for us. Knowing Hank, he's worried about fucking up.

To make him relax a bit I choose to not call attention to his apprehension.

"It's a safe house," I explain, in answer to his question.

"A safe house?"

I nod. "Ever since my parents- died- whenever we go somewhere, I get a place to stay in case of emergencies. It's come in handy once or twice, trust me."

"Do your brothers know about it?" Hank asks.

"No," I reply, with an empty laugh. "To be honest, for the past couple months the main reason I've come here is to shower and change clothes after seeing you. I don't want James and Myles to smell you on me and start asking questions."

He winces- I'm guessing because he's thinking of what would happen if that situation  _did_  happen and then escalated. It wouldn't be pretty, that's for sure. But that's why I'm being so careful, especially after that near miss with James a few weeks back.

"You're the only person I've ever shown this to," I murmur, trying to impress on Hank just how important my bringing him to this place is. "I... I trust you, Hank."

I wonder if he can see the appeal in my eyes as I hold his gaze, the plea not to betray the trust I'm giving him. Has he realized how hard it is for me to put my faith in other people after being burned so many fucking times? It's why I'm such a loner, the reason I don't let my guard down. Surely he understands that?

"I won't tell a soul," he promises, and the sincerity shines brightly in the blueness of his eyes.

I smile in relief and lean in to kiss him. "Thank you," I whisper fervently. "Now, about your present-"

He looks at me with mild curiosity.

I stand and go over to grab the gift I left over on the counter the other day. "For you," I say grandly, placing it into his hands as I sit back down. I hold my breath as he carefully unwraps it.

Hank smiles nostalgically the moment he sees the title of the book, so I know he understands the reference. He opens to the frontispiece with care, obviously wary of its apparent age. "This is the first non-serialized version," he murmurs in an awestruck tone.

I nod proudly. "Yup. Do you like it?"

"Of course I do," he replies, kissing me. "How on earth did you get your hands on this? It's in such good condition and- oh dear, Vivien, you didn't steal it, did you?"

Well, ouch. That's outright  _offensive,_  damn.

"No," I snap, scooting away from him and crossing my arms. "A book collector owed me a favor and gave me a good deal. How could you even  _think_  that I'd give you something stolen? Give me some credit, here."

I know damn well he wouldn't want anything to do with stolen property. I would never put him in that position. The fact that he doesn't realize that hurts my feelings.

"I'm sorry," Hank says quickly. "Vivien, truly. I didn't mean- I just-"

"I get it," I sigh. And I really do. I'm a lot more-  _flexible-_  when it comes to property laws than he is most of the time. "I'm not exactly known for traveling the straight and narrow. It's an easy assumption to make."

I stare down at the carpet between our feet, still feeling a little wounded despite everything. It kinda makes me wonder why he bothers with me sometimes, when I'm obviously a shitty person compared to him.

"It's an assumption I shouldn't have made," Hank tells me, his expression pained. "Darling, I'm sorry."

He seems sincere in his apology, at least. And I can't find it in myself to stay mad at him, as sad as that sounds. At least from now on he'll know better, right?

"It's fine."

"W-would you like your gift now?" he asks tentatively.

"Sure," I reply, purposely keeping my tone neutral.

Hank reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little box. I can't help giving him an amused glance as I take it from him. Looks like he went for the cliche gift just as much as I did.

I open the box to find a pair of gemstone earrings inside.

"I made those for you," he explains nervously.

"You  _made_  these?" I repeat, holding them up to the light. The little green and brown teardrop-shaped stones dangle on delicate silver chains. They're elegant in their simplicity, absolutely gorgeous. I had no idea Hank could  _do_  something like this.

He nods sheepishly in answer to my question. "It wasn't hard," he says modestly. "I just polished the stones and used a soldering iron on the silver. I-I picked andalusite because it reminded me of your eyes. And, well- I thought if I made them long enough, you could still wear them in public without showing anyone your ears. Do you like them?"

" _Of course_  I do, baby," I tell him, laughing. How could I not, considering all the thought he put into making them? "Thank you."

To demonstrate I put the earrings on. The stones fall below my jawline, still visible past the braids that are hiding my ears today.

"What do you think?" I ask, tilting my head back and forth to give him a better view.

"Beautiful," Hank murmurs, with that special happy light in his eyes. The one he only gets when he looks at me.

I giggle and swing a leg over him, so I'm straddling his hips. His arms reach up and pull me closer when I lean in to kiss him. The way he responds, so ardently, tells me he's  _definitely_  not nervous anymore.

We're really starting to get into it when one last coherent thought occurs to me, causing me to break away. It leaves us both gasping and wanting more.

"Take off your shirt and shoes," I order hastily, so we can get back to the fun we were having.

"Why?" He looks self-conscious.

"Because," I reply suggestively, trailing my hands down his chest. His eyes darken, and I could swear a flash of blue flickers over his skin. 'You're about to get a little 'worked up,' baby, and I'd feel bad if I sent you home with a busted shirt and no shoes in the middle of December."

"Your logic is unassailable," Hank murmurs. He awkwardly shucks off his shoes and socks with his feet while I slip off his glasses for him. His expression is a little downcast as he slips off his shirt, like he's being all broody about turning into Beast when he gets-  _excited._

Well I can make him forget about that. And I'll do it with pleasure.

I push him back onto the bed and pounce on him with the intention of doing some serious necking. I kiss him heartily, tracing my claws across his skin-

Within seconds blue fur sprouts under my fingers as he loses control and shifts into Beast. God, the way I can push this reserved, awkward man over the edge makes me feel so powerful, so desirable.

Hank instantly flips us over, so he's pressing me into the mattress. I purr and wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer so I can touch him all over. I honestly can't get enough of him.

I reach out and tenderly stroke his face when we finally come up for air several minutes later. His lovely, lovely face, with those sunset eyes glowing down at me and making me feel so wanted and loved.

"God, you're beautiful," I murmur.

He snorts disbelievingly.

"Hey," I chide. "What? You don't believe me?"

"We both well know that I have the ability to scare small children with the mere sight of my face," he observes coolly.

I roll my eyes. "And?" I retort. "I have huge ears and fangs. I'm freckly, skinny, and I have the chest of a twelve year old boy. But do you still think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're beautiful," Hank replies. "But it's not the same thing, Vivien."

Jesus, he can be  _so_  stubborn sometimes.

"Sure it is," I scoff. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Whatever  _you_  think of yourself, it's not going to change how  _I_  see you. You're the smartest, sweetest man I've ever met. Strong, but gentle too. And a genuinely good person who treats me nicer than anyone else  _ever_  has. All in a ridiculously sexy package."

He lets out a startled laugh.

"Tall, gorgeous cheekbones, and muscles for days," I whisper in what I  _hope_  is a seductive voice. My hands trail over his face, down his drool-inducing arms. "Eyes like sunsets-"

"-Skin and fur like a blueberry-colored shag carpet," Hank adds dryly.

I smirk. "Blue happens to be my favorite color," I purr, pulling him in so I can nibble on his bottom lip.

Hank makes that sexy rumble deep in his chest and kisses me until we're gasping for breath again. "Did you really mean that?" he asks when he finally pulls back. The look in his eyes- this mixture of incredulity and fragile hope, hope that I'm telling the truth- hurts my heart. "What you said about me?"

I pretend to think about it for a moment. "No," I reply sarcastically. "I lied. My favorite color is actually black, Hank. I'm so sor-"

He feigns a displeased growl and rolls us over, both laughing, so I'm on top again.

But then I cradle his face in my hands and kiss him deeply. "I meant every word, baby," I whisper truthfully.

His answering smile has to be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I grin back and lean down to kiss him again, firmly pulling so he shifts to be on top of me once more. He seems quite happy to obey the tacit demand, pressing against me with the full length of his body. God, I love being under Hank like this, feeling so safe and surrounded by him.

Now those big hands of his start to wander all over my front, under my dress. Hesitantly at first, like he's afraid that any moment I'll slap him for being handsy. His claws tentatively graze my breast and then begin to retreat.

But smacking him is the  _last_  thing on my mind right now. "It's ok," I murmur. "I  _want_  you to touch me, Hank."

"Yeah?" he asks breathlessly.

"Mhmm," I reply. To demonstrate I grab his wrist and move his hand back, arching into his touch to encourage him.

After a moment's hesitation I'm rewarded by this worshipful little gasp as Hank presses his face to my cleavage and starts to kiss everywhere his lips can reach.

To my-  _intense-_  delight he's a lot braver after that.

But eventually we allow ourselves to calm down from the fever pitch we worked into, our kisses slowing to a stop by unspoken agreement. Neither of us is sure what would happen if we went all the way, if Hank would be able to stop himself from marking me in the heat of the moment.

So instead for a while we lay cuddled in bed together, with our legs entwined and my face and fingers buried in the fur on his chest.

"It's getting late," I murmur eventually. "We should probably get going."

"Yes, we should," Hank agrees quietly. He kisses my forehead and nuzzles my hair. "But..."

"I know," I whisper. I don't want to go, either. "We can come back here whenever we want to, though."

I say that, but I know it's not enough. Nothing short of being able to spend the rest of my life with him, my mate, will be enough. But with everything standing between us...

Will we ever get that chance?


	55. A Very Happy Birthday to Me

**A Very Happy Birthday to Me**

December 28, 1974

"What did you think?" Hank asks curiously as we step out of the movie theater, still under the marquee. We just finished watching  _The Godfather, Part II._

"It was even better the second time," I reply.

He pauses in the act of opening an umbrella for us both, protection from the freezing rain that started to fall while we were inside. "The second time?"

"Yeah," I say. "I saw it with Peter the other day. Honestly, I think this might be even better than the first movie. What do you think?"

Instead of answering Hank's eyebrows furrow, and he pointedly looks away. "You should've mentioned that you'd already seen it," he mutters. "So we could've watched something else."

I shrug. I'm kinda confused, actually, as to why he seems so disgruntled all the sudden. "I didn't mind seeing it again, though," I explain reasonably. "Did you not want to watch it or something?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't say that."

"Then why-?"

A thought occurs to me.

"Oh my God, Hank, are you jealous?"

It's only because I'm watching him so closely that I see him flinch. "Come on, darling," he says, opening the umbrella and holding it over our heads. He slips his arm around me. "How do pancakes before we go our separate ways sound?"

I plant my feet and refuse to budge from under the marquee. "Don't try to distract me," I snap. "Answer the question, Hank. Are you jealous?"

He closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale before turning to face me, his arm falling to his side. "Am I jealous of a man who gets to see you all the time? Who gets to live in the same house as you and doesn't have to hide his association with you?" he asks rhetorically. "Yes, I am."

"Hank," I plead, stepping closer to him. As I reach up and cup his face in my hands I can't help noticing how his own free hand seems to almost begrudgingly curl back around my waist, like holding me is something he just can't resist.

I open my mouth to defend myself. To assure him that Peter's like a brother to me, and our going to the movies together was completely platonic- hell, it was actually more of an appeasement to keep him from getting suspicious of my frequent absences. That I would never,  _ever_  cheat on him-

But then I realize that he didn't actually accuse me of anything. He simply stated his envy of someone who can openly hang out with me all the time, without fear of reprisal. Things  _he_  can't do, and in all likelihood never will.

Jesus Christ.

That's not fair to Hank.  _None_  of this is fair to him.

He deserves so much more than I can give him. He deserves the honest, open relationship he wanted in the first place. I know that- I've known that from the very beginning. It's always been bubbling just under the surface, a dark shadow in the back of my mind that whispers that I'm a selfish, terrible person for doing this to him. If I was a better human being I would set him free, so he could go find a girl who could give him everything he deserves.

"I'm sorry," is all I can think to say. I allow my hands to drop from his face. "Do you... are you saying you're tired of this?" I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. "Do you want to break up with me?"

"No," Hank replies sharply. His grip on my waist is suddenly so tight it almost hurts. "Darling, no. I don't want to lose you, Vivien."

"And you won't," I promise him. "I'm in this for as long as you are, baby. I  _live_  for the time I get to spend with you, Hank."

"Same here," he murmurs, kissing me sweetly and then resting his forehead against mine.

I put my hands around his neck. "We just have to take the joy out of every day, alright?"

And try not to think about the future.

The future is a dark, uncertain place, full of things that could rip our relationship apart. I'm scared of it, ok? I'd rather just focus on living in the moment with him.

_"Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero,"_  Hank supplies.

"Excuse me, what?"

"It's Latin. It means, 'seize the day, put very little trust in tomorrow, the future.' It seemed to fit,'" he explains, shrugging.

Of course he would know Latin.

"You are  _such_  a nerd," I groan. But then I kiss him. "And I wouldn't have you any other way."

He grins bashfully. "So... pancakes?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Not really," he admits. We set off down the sidewalk together, with him still holding the umbrella over us both. After a few minutes Hank regretfully observes, "it probably would be wise not to see each other on your birthday, wouldn't it?"

"Probably," I agree sadly. "My brothers usually do something for it, so it'd be a dead giveaway if I wasn't there."

Yet another event meant to spent with loved ones that we have to be separated for.

Hank nods thoughtfully. "But will I see you the day before?"

"If you want to come with me to Hell's Kitchen, yeah."

"Ok."

"Why do you ask?" I wonder curiously.

He kisses my temple and grins mischievously, though I sense a hint of sadness in his eyes. "You'll see."

* * *

December 31, 1974

"I have a surprise for you," Hank tells me a few days later as we approach his car, hand-in-hand. He parked in front of my safe house today.

As promised, he accompanied me when I went to visit my friends in Hell's Kitchen for this week. He even brought several bags' worth of food. We've left after spending a few hours with them all and the blush is only just now fading from Hank's cheeks after Marcel's teasing.

I raise my eyebrows and try not to smile. "Does this surprise have anything to do with the fact that tomorrow's my birthday?" I tease.

"It does indeed. I thought I should give this to you now, since we won't see each other tomorrow," Hank replies. Though he tries to hide it I can hear the underlying bitterness in his tone.

I don't blame him in the slightest for his resentment. I wish we could greet the New Year together at midnight, or spend my birthday with each other without causing a pan-mutant incident.

But we can't.

"I know, baby," I sigh, nuzzling his arm. "I know."

I don't say anything else, because there's nothing  _to_  say. It's not like I can promise that it'll be different one day or anything. These stolen hours together may be all we ever get. But we both agree that we don't want to lose what we have between us...

And so here we are.

Hank kisses the top of my head and releases my hand to open the trunk of his car. "I had this idea, after you showed me your safe house," he explains, "that since you have a place your brothers don't know about, I could get you one of these-"

The trunk opens, revealing an electric piano inside.

"-Without anyone asking questions about where you got it. W-what do you think?"

Oh my God.

"You got me a piano?" I ask faintly. I'm so shocked I can't even react.

A piano. A beautiful, brand new piano, to replace the one that James and Myles destroyed.

It's an extravagant, expensive gift, but I can't find it in myself to be uncomfortable about that. Not when Hank is giving me something that I love, something I've been missing in my life for so long. It's  _perfect._

_How will I_  ever _deserve him?_

"I'm sorry," Hank says uncertainly, his gaze on my face. "I thought you would-"

I cut him off with a fierce embrace, hugging him so tight I worry for a second that I may have broken a rib. I squeeze all of the air out of his lungs as it is.

"Thank you," I whisper fervently, pulling his face down for a kiss. "Oh, Hank- this is honestly the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me in my entire life. Thank you, thank you-"

I keep kissing and nuzzling him as I thank him over and over again until Hank reluctantly steps back, taking deep, calming breaths to avoid turning into Beast out here.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"Don't be," I reply, giggling. I give him my best attempt at bedroom eyes. "How about we get this thing upstairs? And then I can finish thanking you properly?"

Hank gives me that adorably goofy grin. "You won't hear any arguments from me," he assures me. "Happy birthday, Vivien."

* * *

January 1, 1975

_Another year gone by_ , I think to myself as I stare up at my bedroom ceiling the next morning.

I can't say that I'm very excited about the New Year, though I know it's supposed to be a time for fresh starts and blank slates. What will 1975 bring? More pain and disillusionment? Or will I finally be able to make my brothers and the twins see reason?

Today's also my twenty-second birthday. God, only twenty-two. I feel so much older than that, with the weight of so many worries and problems on my shoulders. Far from going away any time soon, I'm guessing they're only going to get heavier as I get older.

Jesus- I'm not exactly filled with happy birthday sentiments this morning, am I?

Just then the sound of someone loudly banging on my door makes me startle so much I almost fall out of bed.

"Sissy, wake up!" Myles calls out. "Sissy-!"

Uh oh.

I dart over the door, ready to deal with some sort of crisis-

"Happy birthday, Sissy!" Myles crows, proudly holding up a chocolate cake for my inspection. "We made you breakf-"

Suddenly Wanda comes stumbling into the hallway behind my brother, wheezing like she just ran a marathon. She looks horrified when she sees me standing there already. "Myles!" she moans. "You were supposed to wait until she was  _awake_  before you gave that to her!"

"But she  _is_  awake," my brother pouts.

"Yeah,  _now_  she is, but only because you woke her-"

I burst into laughter then- I just can't help it. It's obvious that Wanda was helping out Myles, with his distinct lack of cooking skills, by making a cake as a surprise for me. But then he jumped the gun in his eagerness to give it to me and left Wanda chasing after him to stop him, to no avail.

God, it warms my heart to see my little brother like this, all excited and earnest. Just like old times, before life got so complicated.

"It's ok, Wanda," I assure her. "I was already awake."

She looks slightly relieved. "Oh, good. Well," she says weakly, "happy birthday!"

"Thank you," I tell them sincerely. "Both of you. This was really sweet. Let me just go put on some clothes and we can dig in, alright?"

"Cake for breakfast?" Wanda asks incredulously.

"Yup," I reply. "Are you really all that surprised?"

She giggles and shakes her head. "On second thought, no. No I'm not."

I meet them in the kitchen a few minutes later, fully dressed and ready to chow down on some cake. It doesn't surprise me in the least that neither James nor Peter have made an appearance yet. Morning people, they are not.

Then again, James is  _always_  sorta crabby no matter what time of day it is... but you know what I mean, right?

Eventually, though, the two of them join us.

James comes into the kitchen first. "'Morning. Happy birthday, Sis," my older brother says, giving me a hug. Aw, look who's behaving like a real person instead of a douche bag rage monster today.

Peter drifts in soon after. A big, boyish grin lights up his face when he sees us all eating cake. "Cake for breakfast? You're a genius, Vixie," he laughs, coming over to hug me, too. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you, guys."

The two newcomers serve themselves up some cake as well. As they're finishing up Myles asks Wanda eagerly, "is it present time now?"

"I'd say so," Wanda agrees. "Peter?"

He stands up. "I'm on it."

I begin to say, "you guys didn't have to-"

But of course Peter's already gone and come back before I finish getting the words out.

"Just accept it, Vixie," he warns, setting a little pile of wrapped presents in front of me.

I roll my eyes. "Uh huh."

"Open them, Sissy!" Myles urges.

Shaking my head and chuckling over their insistent attitudes, I start unwrapping gifts.

Myles' present is this eye-watering yellow scarf that I know I'll never wear. Yellow is  _not_  my color. Wanda got me a pretty silver compact mirror with roses etched on the outside. And then James and Peter both give me some records. Peter's choices are kinda more indicative of his taste rather than mine- Pink Floyd, the Grateful Dead, Deep Purple. But James got me the new Van Morrison and Joni Mitchell, as well as an old Marvin Gaye record, for nostalgia's sake.

Aw. He  _does_  pay attention sometimes.

"Thank you, everyone," I say sincerely, standing to go around and give them all hugs. "Really, this is great."

Just when I start to feel like giving up they all go and do something like this.

Maybe it's naive, but it gives me hope. Hope that there's still kindness in my brothers, that I can still reach them and make them realize that all of this human-hating crap is complete bullshit.

So I guess it  _is_  a Happy New Year, after all.


	56. Missing You

**Missing You**

February 1, 1975

We step up to the theater's box office, arm-in-arm, just as the cashier slides a "sold out" sign into place.

"Well that sucks," I gripe, pouting a little bit.

"I guess that's what we get for trying to see a Broadway play on a Saturday without ordering tickets in advance," Hank observes wryly. "I'm sorry, Vivien."

I sigh. "No, it's alright," I assure him. "It was just an idea, anyway. But where do you want to go now?"

"Preferably somewhere warm," he replies, shivering slightly. "It's chilly."

"Is it?" I tease. I mean, yeah, I'm actually wearing pants today. But that's only so no one looks at me weird, not because the cold sleet that's falling actually bothers me. Just a perk of being a feral, really.

Hank rolls his eyes.

I laugh and stand on tiptoe to kiss the exasperation off his face. "Want to go to my apartment?" I suggest coyly. I run a claw along his jawline. "I don't have a heater, but I'm sure we can think of  _other_  ways to get you warm."

His gaze darkens in this way that makes my stomach do these crazy little back flips. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Hank grins as I lead him up the stairs and into my apartment. He follows suit when I kick off my shoes and slip out of my jacket and then makes no protest when I pull him over to my bed.

"Shirt off," I command imperiously as I draw back the blanket and snuggle underneath it.

He rolls his eyes again, even though he's smiling. "Yes, ma'am," he murmurs. After he removes his shirt I hold my arms out for him, an invitation that he doesn't hesitate to take.

I scoot close as soon as Hank joins me under the covers, and he eagerly meets me halfway when I pull him in for a kiss. He shifts into his Beast form within seconds and starts to basically  _shower_  me in kisses. It's absolutely heaven.

"I'm warm now," he notes facetiously several minutes later. His facial hair tickles against my skin as he kisses along my collarbone.

I giggle and squirm against him. "Same here," I purr.

Hank moves onto his side, propping his head up with one hand while the other drifts to my face. His claws are as soft as gossamer wings across my cheek, so gentle and sweet. His expression is rather wistful, and I fear I already know the reason.

"It's not time to go already, is it?" I ask sulkily.

"No, I think I have a couple hours, yet," Hank assures me. His smile suddenly has just a hint of a bitter edge to it. "No one ever notices that I've been gone unless they need me for something."

I frown. "What do you mean? Did someone almost catch you?"

He shrugs. "Charles almost did, once," he explains. "He needed me to help one of the students with decorations for the New Year's party. But I was able to distract him rather easily from pressing me on where I'd been. The whereabouts of one reclusive scientist are rather low on his priority list."

"He's a busy guy," I murmur.

Hank nods pensively, his thoughts clearly drifting down paths I can't follow.

"Does that- does it hurt your feelings a little?" I guess. "Him not being more curious about what's going on with you? I mean, after all that time of it just being the two of you..."

"Not at all," Hank replies, so firmly that I can't help believing him. "It works to my favor, after all-"

He leans down and nuzzles my hair. He obviously means so he can sneak out to see me without notice.

"-And I'd much rather see him happy and busy like this, after everything..."

A shadow crosses his face. Dark memories, maybe? I have a funny feeling he's referring to that blank space he skimmed over between Cuba and that Logan guy showing up.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask. Not because I'm trying to be nosy or anything- I'm just trying to subtly let him know he can open up to me, if he wants.

Hank opens his mouth like he's going to decline, but something in my eyes seems to make him change his mind. "After Cuba," he says hesitantly, "everything was alright at first. We remodeled the mansion, built the labs and started the school. It gave Charles something to focus on besides what he'd lost. But then the war in Vietnam got worse. A lot of the teachers and older students were drafted, so we had to close down."

His expression becomes pained.

"Without the school... It broke him. He'd lost everything- Erik, Raven, his legs. He retreated into himself. I-I wanted to help him somehow, so I designed a formula to treat his spine. It was derived from the same serum I use for my mutation," Hank explains, gesturing to himself. "I thought giving him back his legs would help, but it wasn't enough. He took too much of the serum, trying to drown out the voices, the pain. I tried to ease him back, but he just couldn't bear it. All the alcohol, and the serum-"

He winces.

"I gave up on trying to stop him and just tried to make sure he didn't kill himself in the middle of some bender," he mutters, his expression haunted. "There were a few times that it came close. I can't help feeling that he wouldn't have gotten that bad if I hadn't been such an enabler."

My poor Hank.

I can see the pain in his expression, how guilty he feels about the part he believes he played in the Professor hitting rock bottom. But he's being unfair to himself, I think, because he was really only trying to help his friend. He's such a gentle soul- he can't stand to see people suffering, especially people he cares about.

Not a bad character flaw to have in a world that's often so cruel to those who need kindness the most. In  _my_  opinion, anyway.

"Hey," I murmur, reaching out to take his face in my hands. "Stop blaming yourself for that, Hank. You were only trying to help him. You did the best you could with what a horrible situation gave you, ok?"

He nods slowly, though he doesn't seem completely convinced. "I thought about leaving several times," he admits quietly. "I felt like I was wasting the prime of my life. I was so  _tired_  of feeling helpless and so utterly  _hopeless._  But no matter how bad it got, I could never quite bring myself to leave him. I suppose it was because I was still loyal to the man he once was. And then I pitied him, for losing everything that mattered the most to him."

"It wasn't pity," I argue, stroking his face with my thumbs. "It was because you had hope for him, baby. As long as we're alive, there's  _always_  hope for things, for  _people_ to get better."

I have to believe that, I  _have_  to. I can't afford to give up my newfound faith that people can change, because if I do that means I've lost my brothers. If anything, hearing about Charles' redemption steels my determination even further. He's living proof that this hope shit works, you know?

"And look where he is now," I tell Hank, tapping his nose with my finger. "Hope  _did_  win out in the end, didn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it did," he agrees thoughtfully. His eyes wistfully search my face for a moment before he pulls me tight against his chest and buries his nose in my hair. I know without asking what he's thinking about.

We fell in love in a hopeless place. And the circumstances that divide us seem pretty damn impassible, with no change in sight.

Hope won out for Charles, yeah. But what about us?

* * *

I head for the kitchen as soon as I get back to base with the intention of making myself something to eat.

I'll admit it- I'm a little lost in thought, digesting everything Hank told me this afternoon. The price my poor Hank paid for his loyalty to Charles, a price paid in pain and loneliness.

Part of me wants to get my hands on the Professor so I can give him a good talking-to about wallowing in his self-pitying bullshit for so long and taking my Hank along for the ride. Magneto is a crazy asshole, and that Raven woman sounds like a real  _peach_  for ditching her adoptive brother of eighteen years while he was bleeding to follow a man she'd known for a couple weeks. The  _same_  dude who had just put a fucking bullet in her brother's spine. Charles is better off without both of them, and if he could get over his goddamn martyr/savior complex he'd see that.

But at the same time I can also empathize with him. I had my own dark period of self-abuse, after all. It didn't take some guy coming back from the future to snap me out of it, but I still did those things to myself. So I get it.

_Still, chewing the Professor out would probably make me feel better about the whole thing,_  I muse to myself.  _Chuck is lucky I can't-_

A quiet conversation drifts towards me from the direction of the kitchen as I approach.

"-her busy tonight, ok?"

"But-" Wanda protests. Or at least I'm assuming it's her, considering the distinct lack of other girls in this joint.

"Just do it, alright?" the first voice presses. I'm pretty sure it's James.

A reluctant sigh I can tell is Peter's. "Alright."

I step inside the kitchen to see my suspicions confirmed. Wanda's cooking spaghetti while the two boys ostensibly sit and wait for their dinner. Typical menfolk, both of them.

But why do I have an unsettled feeling about all this? What were they talking about before I came in?

"Hey, guys," I say. "What's up?"

James shrugs. "Nothin'," he replies nonchalantly. "Just waiting for dinner. Is it ready yet, Scarlet?"

I watch all of them closely, looking for some sign of secrecy that would explain the reluctance on the twins' part to whatever James was asking them to do. I find none.

_Paranoid, Babineaux,_  I scold myself _. You're getting paranoid._

"Almost," Wanda replies.

"Do you have enough for one more?" I ask hopefully.

"With the way you and your brother eat, no," she tells me, her expression regretful. "Sorry."

I shrug. "That's alright," I assure her. "I'll just make myself an omelet."

It's only after I've gotten the skillet heating on the stove and started cracking eggs into a bowl that Peter suddenly pipes up. "Hey," he says suddenly.

I glance up to see my brother watching the speedster steadily.

"Let's go do something tonight."

"Like what?" Wanda prompts. "A movie?"

"Nah," Peter replies. He looks thoughtful for a moment, while James eyes him all the while. "How about we take a trip to Club X?"

"Oh!" his sister squeals. "I like that idea! Vivien, what do you think of that?"

I eye her warily. "That depends," I hedge. "Will it be like last time?"

Wanda has the grace to blush a little.  _"No,"_  she retorts quickly. She pointedly glances at Peter and back at me with a pleading look, which makes me laugh.

"Alright, I'm in," I agree. Then, to be polite, I turn to James. "What about you, James?"

"I'll pass," my brother replies calmly.

"You sure?" I press, but without any real feeling. In my head I'm remembering all the times he's scared away anyone who wanted to dance with me in the past. It's not exactly an experience I'm eager to repeat.

"Yeah," James assures me, smiling bitterly. "I'm a cock-blocking buzzkill, remember?"

Wanda and Peter snort.

"Well, you're not wrong," I mutter.

* * *

Going clubbing without your boyfriend, I decide pretty quickly, isn't all that fun.

I find myself missing Hank even more than usual as I sit there at the bar and enviously watch the mutant couples dancing the night away. A few guys come up and ask me for a turn, but I politely pass. I don't want them, I want  _Hank_.

Let's be honest, though- would my shy wallflower want to dance in public like this? Probably not.

But that still doesn't stop me from wishing he was here. I think he would like to see all of these people brazenly showing off their mutations. Maybe it would be a step in making him more comfortable with his own.

A silver-haired blur suddenly appears at my side. "Hey, Vixie. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Peter," I assure him. "Just people-watching."

He wrinkles his nose. "Sounds boring."

I laugh. "Maybe to a guy like  _you_  it would be, Mr. Quicksilver," I agree. I reach up and affectionately tousle his hair, making him chuckle. "Since sitting still is not your forte."

A pause.

"Come dance with me," Peter says suddenly. He gives me a charming, boyish grin. "That's what you've been waiting for, right? For me to ask you?"

I roll my eyes. "You caught me."

He seems to miss the sarcasm because he brightens and leads me onto the floor, pulling me in close to his chest for a dance. I go through the motions for his sake, just because I don't want to hurt his feelings.

I'm not  _that_  heartless, ok?

Try as I might, though, I don't really enjoy myself all that much. I'm glad when the night's over and we head back to base.

_God, I miss Hank. I wish he was here. Here, with me._


	57. Moves and Counter-Moves

**Moves and Counter-Moves**

February 2, 1975

I'm exhausted by the time we get back to base at almost 3 am the next morning. My eyelids are heavy, I can't stop yawning...

And yet I can't fall asleep.

Something's nagging at me about the evening, my intuition whispering that all is not what it should be. I tried to write off my misgivings as paranoia last night, but my subconscious just won't let it go. It spins around and around in my brain furiously, like a coked up hamster on a wheel.

What did James ask the twins to do last night in the kitchen? Why did they sound reluctant to comply? And what was with the way my brother was looking at Peter? Why did James pass on coming out with us, when he's never declined an invitation to go and get wasted before? I mean, he  _could_  just be growing up a little, but I find that about as likely as hell freezing over.

So what gives?

After a few hours- at which point it's already well past daybreak- I give up on trying to get some sleep and head for the control room. I figure I can go over the security footage from after the twins and I headed out last night and see if anything suspicious happened. That way I can set my mind at ease-

Or not.

Because when I sync up the footage from the previous night I find  _nothing._  As in  _nothing_  nothing- the tapes have either been wiped clean, or someone just turned off the damn cameras. There's no subtlety to it at all.

I pick through the time leading up to the lost hours, trying to uncover a clue on who did it. I can't turn up anything, like the system just...  _died._  Or got turned off remotely.

Only one guy around here has the ability to manipulate a bunch of electrical switches from a distance.

Magneto, that mother fucker. But  _why?_

I immediately stomp my way over to his room and knock on his door. I fully intend on asking him what the fuck this is about-

Magneto's eyebrows raise incredulously when he opens the door and sees it's me. "Vixen," he murmurs, dead shark eyes shuttered and neutral. "What a surprise."

"Is it?" I snap. "I-"

All the puzzle pieces fall into place just then.

I heard the word "busy" as I approached the kitchen. As in, James was telling Peter and Wanda to keep me busy for several hours. So the twins took me out so I wasn't here last night, behaving naturally and carefree so I wouldn't suspect anything. God, if I wasn't such a paranoid nutcase I would've bought the act completely. And then Magneto shut off the cameras so I couldn't go back and piece together whatever they're trying to hide from me.

They were  _all_  in on this scheme.

I'd be lying if I said that didn't hurt.  _A lot_.

_Damn,_  that stings.

The realization makes some semblance of self-preservation take over. I change tact to a more conciliatory approach, rather than the tirade I was about to unleash on this lying sack of shit.

I clear my throat. "I need to speak with you," I murmur civilly.

"By all means," Erik replies. He steps aside and gestures that I should come into his room.

"Thanks."

I've never been in here before. Not really a surprise, considering that I tend to avoid our fearless leader as much as I can. Creepy, calculating nut job...

Magneto's room is pretty much exactly as I envisioned it: cold, spartan and completely devoid of any personal effects. Not even a stray sock lying around to show that someone actually lives in here, for fuck's sake. Just a neatly made bed, a dresser, a desk with a computer on it, and a small table with two chairs. On this table sits a chessboard.

This, of course, grabs my attention. I mean- how could it  _not,_  considering what Hank told me about Magneto and the Professor?

"Do you play?" I ask conversationally, gesturing towards the board.

Erik looks genuinely surprised. "Yes."

"With who?"

"No one," he replies, with a shadow of regret passing over his stoic features. "Or I suppose you can say, myself."

Aw. I almost feel bad for him, the lonely little boy with no one to play with him.  _Almost._

Because that's what happens when you make a habit of shooting your friends. First Professor X, and then Raven Darkholme. People don't want to be your friend when catching a bullet becomes a common fucking hazard of hanging out with you, do they?

"I know how," I tell Magneto.

I don't give actual voice to the offer, but he hears it anyway. He gives me one of those unnerving, creepy smiles and gestures for me to take the seat behind the white pieces.

_Jesus, Babineaux,_  I think to myself as I sit down. _You're just_  full  _of bright ideas this morning, aren't you? All these secrets you're keeping, and you want to spend quality time with this asshole?_

I never said I was smart, ok?

Taking a deep breath, I make my first move.

"What was it that you wanted to speak with me about, Vixen?" Erik asks finally, after several minutes of us trading turns.

I glance up at him. "We've got a security problem, Erik," I reply.

His eyebrows go up incredulously again at my use of his real name. I curse myself inwardly for that- I must have picked it up from Hank, since he always refers to Magneto that way. That's something that I definitely don't need rubbing off on me.

"Magneto," I correct hastily.

He frowns. "And what makes you say that?"

"I went in to do a routine check on the camera system this morning and noticed that last night was missing," I explain, because I want this bastard to know I'm on to him. "Almost like the tape was wiped, or..."

"Or?"

"Or the system got remotely turned off somehow."

Magneto's jaw clenches for just a second before his expression smooths. "Oh, that doesn't surprise me," he murmurs calmly. "We had a power outage last night while you and the twins were gone."

Uh huh. And I'm six fucking feet tall.

I open my mouth to make a retort, or at least ask him if he really thinks I'm dumb enough to buy the bullshit he's selling, and then close it. I stare down at the board for a minute, as if pondering my next move. Because in a way, I am.

After a second I realize he's left his queen wide open for me to take with my knight. Did he really-?

Wait.

_It's a trap, Babineaux. Just like his excuse is._

I can see it now, how he could nail me in a couple moves if I fell for his ploy. Just like I clearly see that if I keep pressing Magneto about the cameras I'll find myself being disposed of like a fucking moistened towelette.

Nope. Not going to take that bait. Literally  _or_  figuratively.

I move my bishop instead. "Well that explains it, then," I say brightly. "I'm glad there's a reasonable explanation for it. Do you want me to set up a backup generator so it doesn't happen again?"

"Perhaps," Magneto replies. He almost looks disappointed that I didn't force the issue. "If it happens again I will consider that offer. Thank you, Vixen."

"You're welcome."

We're silent for a minute or so, trading moves back and forth.

"Speaking of thank you's," I muse, "I never got around to thanking you for helping me out a couple months ago."

He smiles that creepy shark grin of his, waiting. I think he likes the idea of me owing him something.

"Thank you, Magneto, for taking me to Xavier's," I tell him. And I actually mean it. "H-Beast said I wouldn't have made it, otherwise."

Erik bows his head in assent. "Your brothers and my children would have never forgiven me if I had not made every effort to save you," he explains stiffly.

And way to buy it all back, asshole.

Jesus, what a self-serving answer. I mean, I get that he didn't help me because he actually  _likes_  having me around or anything, but damn. Just go and admit that you only saved me so your team didn't rebel on your ass, why don't you.

"So what did you think of Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters?" he asks, his tone slightly mocking of the school's grandiose name.

I chuckle wryly as I make another move. "It was a  _mansion,_  Magneto," I tell him honestly. "Very fancy digs. A little too high class for a country girl like me. I worried I was going to break something."

"Were they kind to you there?" he queries, his tone mildly curious.

"The others, not so much. But Beast and the Professor were very nice," I reply, slightly more subdued this time. I just wanted to thank the guy, for Christ's sake, and it somehow feels like I triggered a fucking interrogation. "Beyond just saving my life, I mean."

Magneto's expression turns sardonic. "Did they ask you to stay with them?"

_"So leave the Brotherhood. Stay with me, Vivien,"_  Hank's voice in my head begs.

In my mind's eye I can see the pleading look on his face as he said those words to me that horrible night. The night I walked out on him, away from Xavier's and all the things I wanted so badly for myself. The things I  _still_  want, but can't have without giving up on my brothers.

It's a struggle to keep the pain out of my voice. "Not in so many words, but the Professor kinda...  _intimated_  that he would welcome me there," I explain, positioning my knight to check his king as I tell yet another half-truth. "Check."

Erik snorts derisively. "Of course he did," he mutters, maneuvering his king out of danger- or so he thinks, anyway. I wonder if he realizes that I can beat him in three moves now? "Charles is always on the lookout for another soul to save."

His clear contempt makes me defensive on the Professor's behalf, which is obviously ridiculous because of my own opinion on Saint Xavier's ulterior designs for me. But I'm also pretty sure Magneto could say the sky is blue or something equally obvious and I'd still want to disagree with the bastard, out of principle.

The thing that bothers me the most is that Charles has given him  _plenty_  of chances to do the right thing. I mean, he let Magneto go after he tried to  _kill the President_ , for Christ's sake, in the hope that he would turn over a new leaf. But instead this asshole ran away from sanity in the opposite direction, like it's a fucking plague.

His disdain for the Professor's idealism doesn't sit well with me, not one bit. Charles is the only reason he's walking free right now, so he  _really_  shouldn't talk shit about him. Taking advantage of kindness and then being scornful of it is completely hypocritical. Magneto can't have it both ways, you know?

"Maybe he is. But I don't see anything wrong with trying to save people from themselves," I retort, before I can think better of it.

Erik's eyes narrow, and it takes everything in me to meet his gaze steadily.  _Especially_  when I'm half-expecting some random piece of metal to fly over and jam itself in my throat at any second. He clearly didn't appreciate that jab, and the fact that I'm expressing an opinion in common with our sworn enemy is apparently the ultimate form of Brotherhood blasphemy.

Shit.

I give him a sweet smile and tilt my head coyly, trying to backtrack a little. "And besides," I add teasingly, "what makes you think I need saving?"

He frowns. "Stop that," he says sternly. He takes the bishop I left exposed, as a sacrifice. Taking the bait like a chump.

"Stop what?" I ask, moving my rook into position. I look at him with wide, guileless eyes.

"Pretending you're some simple little fool," he snaps. "We both know you're no fool, Vixen. You may look like an innocent little girl, but I know you've got a will of steel behind that sweet and pretty face of yours."

Erik pointedly takes one of my pawns, which was apparently getting too close for his comfort. He's acting like he just made some sort of deep, calculated reveal. The pompous dick thinks he's completely got me all figured out.

Whatever, dude. Want a gold star or something?

I cast my eyes down, trying to wipe the pure loathing that I have for this guy off of my face so I don't give myself away. I can't, though. I  _can't._

Magneto may  _think_  he's got the upper hand on me, but I'd say we're evenly matched. Actually, I might even hold better cards in the long run. The other Brotherhood members- with the exception of Mastermind, of course- love me. As a sister, and as a friend. And I'll pick love over  _fear_  any day. He can only use fear to manipulate people for so long before that fear eventually loses its edge.

Manipulation and fear are what Erik Lehnsherr is all about.

And I'm fucking  _sick_  of it.

Oh, I'll keep playing along on the surface- the part of the "simple little fool," as he says- but Magneto can't touch what's inside me. He knows that.

And that scares him.

I look up through my lashes and give him my deceptively artless smile. "You can  _control_  steel, Magneto," I say sweetly, and then I move my queen one final time, in position against his king. "Checkmate."


	58. The Greatest Gift

**The Greatest Gift**

February 14, 1975

An uneasy peace- if you can call it that- pervades the Brotherhood base for the next couple weeks or so. There's no violence, but I'm watching my teammates carefully, trying to pick up clues on what the fuck is going on.

No such luck, though. I'm still fumbling in the dark.

"Hey, Vixie," Peter says, appearing next to me suddenly, as is his habit, when I'm on my way to the kitchen for a snack before heading out to see Hank. "We've got a mission tonight. We leave at nine."

I can't stop myself from sighing. "A mission doing what?"

He frowns at my obvious lack of enthusiasm. "What's wrong?"

_I know you're keeping something from me, that's what's fucking wrong,_  I want to say.

But I don't.

Because I'm wary of calling too much attention to myself with too many questions, even with Peter. Surveillance is the name of the game for now. I don't want Magneto to get suspicious and decide to murder my ass just to save himself the trouble of my continued existence. What use would I be then? I may be playing it too cautious, but I also  _really_  don't want to die, you know?

"I just... lately it hasn't really felt like anything we're doing has been aimed at helping mutants," I tell Peter. And that's not even a total lie, either. "Is there even a point to all of this?"

"Of course there is," he replies, his expression serious. That's a rare occurrence for him. "You just- you just have to trust Dadneto, Vivien."

I snort derisively and turn away, shaking my head.

He grabs my arm to stop me from walking away. "I wish you'd stop doing that," he says. There's this strange undercurrent to his words- a weird mixture of frustration and pleading that bleeds through and puts me on edge.

"Doing what?"

"Shrugging my dad off like that," Peter explains. "He notices, you know. It makes him not trust you."

I laugh bitterly. "Has he ever, Peter?"

He winces, which is answer enough, isn't it? We both know Magneto has never really trusted me, right from the get go. I always asked too many questions, never could follow orders like a good little soldier. His mutant superiority agenda was something I sure as hell never signed up for. "Well how about this," Peter offers instead, "if you can't trust him, trust  _me,_  ok?"

If only I could.

Jesus, where did this all go so wrong? When exactly did I stop trusting Peter? Was it when I realized he was fine with Hank and Storm dying in that building I was supposed to blow up? Just "collateral damage," he said then.

Or was it before that, even, when I saw him shrug everything off and accept the crap we did in the Brotherhood with no apparent disquiet?

Maybe- and damn, it hurts to admit this- maybe the truth is that I never truly trusted him in the first place. God knows that I  _wanted_  to. I just...  _couldn't._

I guess there was always a little voice in the back of my head whispering that Peter's devotion to his crazy-ass father made him untrustworthy. I honestly believe Peter cares about me, but not enough to trump his desire for his dad's love and approval. Maybe this friendship was really just doomed from the start.

Fucking Magneto.

Yeah, I know part of this shit is on me for being so fucking stubborn. And it's not like I'm pure as the driven snow here, what with all the sneaking around with Hank and helping Spyke escape. I get that.

But let's be honest- this is mostly that crazy bastard's fault. Peter and Wanda and my brothers keeping secrets from me- it all comes down to Erik Lehnsherr and his quest for the Universe's Biggest Hypocrite Award.

I look the silver-haired speedster straight in the eye. "Trust is a two-way street, Peter," I murmur bitterly.

There's no sense of triumph for me when the guilt flashes across his face, even though it's basically a confirmation of all my paranoid suspicions. He  _is_  hiding stuff from me, and now he's aware that I know it.

"Vivien, you don't understand-" he begins to say, but I shake my head and deliberately step away. Peter's wounded expression still hurts my heart a little, no matter how pissed I am at him.

"I'm going out," I announce flatly. "Don't worry, I'll be back in time for the mission."

I don't know if I should be relieved or upset that he doesn't try to stop me.

* * *

Thanks to my hasty exit from the Brotherhood base I'm super early for my rendezvous with Hank, so I settle down on a bench to wait. The sky looks like it's considering some sort of precipitation but hasn't quite made up its mind- pretty fitting for my mood right now, actually.

But then I see Hank approaching with a bouquet of flowers and a box of some kind. It's candy, I realize, when he gets closer. Just like that, my mood brightens by about a  _thousand_  percent.

An incredulous smile tugs at my lips. I wonder what all this is about?

"For you," he says, offering the flowers and candy with a slight flourish.

"Aw, thank you, baby," I tell him as I stand to give him a kiss. I feel my cheeks heating up as I take the gifts.

The bouquet is gardenias and violets, which just so happen to be my two favorite kinds of flowers. How sweet of him to remember that! And then the candy is actually a box of chocolates, my favorite major food group.

But why did he do this? It couldn't be because he psychically knew I was having a bad day or something, right? I kinda feel like I'm missing something.

"What's the occasion?"

Hank looks a little startled. "It's Valentine's Day."

"Oh," I mutter sheepishly. "I actually didn't even realize."

Oops. Does that make me a shitty girlfriend for not getting him anything? Crap.

He lets out a long sigh. "I've been panicking for days trying to think of what to get you," he says, his expression slightly disgruntled. "Talk about wasted anxiety."

"Oh, Hank. I'm so sorry. But I love this, really," I assure him earnestly. I stand on tiptoe to kiss him. "You're much more than I deserve, baby."

He's still kinda pouting, so I pull him over to the bench so we can sit down together. I snuggle against him and immediately crack open the heart-shaped chocolate box.

What can I say? I'm not a big believer in delayed gratification.

"You really know how to treat a girl, Hank," I joke, picking up one at random and taking a bite.

Oh my God, heaven in my mouth.

Hank is watching me with clear amusement, which makes me a little self-conscious about my intention to eat the whole damn box right now.

Aw, man. I guess I should probably share, huh? Even though right now I'm sorta tempted to pretend I never learned how. I mean, I never went to kindergarten, so maybe he'd buy that?

Alright, probably not.

I offer him the half-eaten morsel, which he leans in and takes.

"So, what holiday are we celebrating next, so I'm not surprised next time?" I tease after a few minutes. "Saint Patrick's day? For your heritage and all that? McCoy is an Irish name, right?"

"Originally Scottish, actually," Hank replies, but then his brow furrows. "You know, we've been seeing each other like this for over three months and I still don't know your last name."

I frown, thinking about it for a second. "You're right," I agree, chuckling. I quickly pop a whole chocolate in my mouth when I don't think he's looking.

"Well?" he prompts after a moment. "What is it?"

I roll my eyes. I wasn't aware that his observation needed further comment. "Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity, I suppose," Hank replies, shrugging.

I snort. "Fine, Mr. Nosy. It's Babineaux," I mutter. "Vivien Babineaux."

_Don't you wish it could be Vivien_  McCoy? a little voice inside me whispers wistfully.

Yeah, I do. But that's never going to happen, is it?

I'll admit it- the thought depresses me a lot more than it should, considering that I've always known a real future between us is impossible. I can't control what I daydream about sometimes though.

"There. Was that so difficult?"

I stick my tongue out at him and pick up another candy. Some perverse impulse makes me pretend to offer it to Hank after I take a bite, only to pull my hand back and instead pop the rest of the chocolate into my mouth when he leans in.

"Mmm."

"Very mature, Vivien," Hank observes, laughing.

"Well, I  _am_  quite younger than you are," I retort, grinning teasingly at him. " _Old man_. It gives me some leeway on the whole maturity thing."

Predictably, he flushes a little and coughs.

For whatever reason the almost eight year age difference between us bothers him a lot more than it does me. Maybe because it makes him feel like a dirty old man or something, I don't know. But so what if he could already vote while I was still technically a preteen? We're both adults now, and that's what matters.

So I can't help giggling at his harmless embarrassment.

"Babineaux, huh?" Hank murmurs. Obviously changing the subject. "Your ancestry must be Acadian, then."

Alright, I'm impressed. He's right- my dad's family came from Acadia during the  _Le Grand Dérangement._ He seriously got that from just my last name? "How'd you know-?" I begin to ask, because who the hell  _does_  that? But then I remember who I'm talking to and shake my head. "Oh, never mind. You know  _everything."_

"Well, not  _everything,"_  he replies. And then his jaw tightens slightly, like he thinks that might have come across as conceited.

I just laugh and offer him another nibble of chocolate. He's always worrying about stuff like that, my modest, lovable genius. For someone so smart he can be completely clueless about his own charm.

We sit in a companionable silence for a few minutes of more candy-eating before Hank speaks again. "It still seems strange to me that you're from Louisiana," he muses.

"Why is that, sugah? 'Cuz I don't sound like some kinda cun-try bumpkin?" I ask in an exaggerated drawl that makes him snort. I sigh and explain, "I used to have an accent, but I lost it over the years. I haven't been down there in a long time."

"Do you ever miss it?"

"You mean, do I ever miss the place where I lived when my parents were alive and my brothers and I weren't mixed up with a terrorist organization?" I ask rhetorically, with a wry grin.

Louisiana.

My dad's family moved there from Acadia in the 1700s, some of the first white settlers to arrive. Mom's people, though, have been there for  _thousands_  of years. She told me once that the idea of mutants- especially ferals- might  _seem_  new to the White Man, but they've been part of Choctaw stories forever. Feral mutants were highly respected in the tribe, what with the super senses, hunting instincts and speed.

So technically speaking, my roots go down deep into the bayou. And when I think of the word "home," the first image that pops into my head is the memory of that little cabin I grew up in.

But that place doesn't exist anymore, does it? I don't even think that  _me_  exists anymore. There's just too many years of pain and loss separating me from my old self.

I look away from Hank and shake my head to clear it of the memories threatening to swarm over. "I do," I say, in answer to his question. "But it's not like I could go back. Nothing is the same anymore, and it wouldn't feel right. The Vivien Babineaux who lived there was young and innocent. She always had muddy feet and leaves in her hair, because she loved to take books up trees to read them. And now... It's like I'm not even the same person anymore."

"I understand," Hank murmurs.  _"It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."_

Quoting  _Alice in Wonderland_? God, I love him.

I smile sadly and reach up to stroke his face. "Exactly," I agree. I snuggle up against him even closer and absently take another bite of candy. After a moment's reflection I admit, "I miss being that person. You would've liked her. She was sweet and-"

Hank takes my chin between his fingers and gently tilts my head until I'm looking him in the face. "I like who you are now, Vivien," he tells me, his tone firm. "I wouldn't be sitting here with you if I didn't."

I can't even  _describe_  how it feels to hear him say that. For Hank to basically dismiss the idea of wanting me any other way than how I am. He accepts  _me,_  as-is.

Forget candy- though Jesus, did I really just say that?

But...  _acceptance._  That's the greatest gift this man will ever give me. In a world that views us both as misfits, at least we have each other.

Just looking at him makes me smile. "I think that earned you a whole candy, Dr. McCoy," I murmur.


	59. Traitor, Traitor

**Traitor, Traitor**

This is the last chocolate, too. But that's ok, because I'm pretty sure it's coconut. For some reason candy makers always feel the need to ruin a perfectly good box of chocolates with at least one coconut one. It's a damn shame.

I  _hate_  coconut, so it's not really a hardship to give this last candy up. But I don't think it's ever come up before whether Hank likes coconut or not. I guess I'm about to find out, aren't I?

And if anything... better him eating this than me!

I pick up the candy, sniff it- ugh, it  _is_  coconut- and offer it to him.

He leans in and takes a bite-

And immediately gags.

_Well I guess that answers that question, doesn't it?_

"Ugh, coconut," he chokes. The horrified, betrayed look on his face makes me crack up laughing. "Y-you did that on purpose!"

Somehow I don't think the excuse of me testing a scientific hypothesis is going to fly in this case, even with a super nerd like Hank. Because if I'm being honest with myself, I have to admit that I really  _was_  just trying to get rid of the yucky one by feeding it to my unwitting victim here.

So instead of trying to defend myself I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. "I know," I agree, batting my eyelashes at him. "But will you still be my Valentine, Hank?"

His righteous indignation melts away immediately. "Of course."

I giggle and snuggle against him, cradling his right hand between both of mine in my lap with my legs swung over his thigh. He has his left arm wrapped around my waist, holding me close, and now leans in to nuzzle my hair.

It's absolutely perfect, just sitting here in peaceful, companionable silence.

I always want to freeze moments like this with Hank. Just, I don't know,  _stop_  time and never move out of his arms again, so I don't lose this wonderful feeling I get when I'm around him.

But I can't.

Because let's face it- life is basically a series of shit storms with little momentary breaks in the clouds. I'm sitting here peacefully right now, but tonight?

Back to our regularly-scheduled weather forecast. Bring a raincoat.

"That was a heavy sigh," Hank murmurs gently. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't know I sighed," I mutter. "Sorry."

He lifts his free hand out of my lap and uses it to turn my face towards his again. "What's wrong, Vivien?" he repeats. There's nothing but concern in those big blue eyes.

"Nothing," I reply, shrugging. "But at the same time, everything."

Hank looks puzzled.

I sigh- consciously this time. "Nothing's wrong when I'm next to you. But the second I leave here, it's all going to come rushing back," I explain. I shake my head disdainfully at myself. "I'm being such a whiner, Jesus."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I chuckle bitterly. "There's nothing to be said that we haven't already, baby," I tell him. "It's just Brotherhood bullshit."

He's silent for a long moment, thinking. I already know what he's going to say when he finally does speak. "You know my door is always open for you, darling," he assures me. "We both know you don't belong-"

"So you've said," I interject impatiently. He winces at my tone, which is admittedly pretty bitchy. I immediately feel bad about that. "I mean- sorry, baby. But... you  _know_ I can't just leave. My brothers-"

Hank sighs wistfully. "Yes, I know."

God, I  _hate_  this.

I feel like I'm being torn in two different directions. I love Hank, and I want to be with him. I don't agree with the Brotherhood's goals- and that's just the ones that I even  _know_  about. But I also want to believe that I can save my brothers and the twins from themselves. I love them all too much to give up on them.

Because that's the alternative, isn't it? Giving up, just walking away from my family. Jesus, where would I even  _go?_

Hank can say his door is open all he wants to, but I know that's not a real option. The X-Geeks would never trust that I really turned traitor against the Brotherhood. No matter how hard Hank and I tried to convince them that I've never believed in this mutant superiority bullshit, they'll never buy me truly being against my own flesh and blood. I can't say I blame them, either.

No. The X-Men don't want me, and now the Brotherhood doesn't trust me-

_Maybe the truth is that I don't really belong anywhere,_ I muse sadly.

It's almost like Hank can read my mind. That's the only explanation I can think of for the way he pulls me tightly against his chest just as the sobering thought occurs to me. Like he's silently telling me that he's here for me, no matter how lost I feel. Maybe he realizes how trapped I really am.

"Hank..." I whisper.

"Yes?"

I turn my head so I can look him in the eye. "Don't expect a phone call from me tonight," I blurt out.

That's not what I meant to say- though to be honest, I have no idea what I was actually about to tell him. Sometimes I say and do shit without thinking it through all the way, ok?

But I guess all of this anger and anxiety over Peter and my brothers not trusting me just finally found an outlet. Don't trust me? Well, fine. I'll do something to fucking  _deserve_  not being trusted. How about them apples?

I suppose I've always technically been a traitor to the Brotherhood in my thoughts, since I've never really agreed with their agenda. Now I'm a traitor in words, too.

The guilt starts to roil around in my stomach, almost overwhelming my vindictiveness and making me feel a little nauseous. The fact that I don't trust what the Brotherhood is doing doesn't change that now I'm a fucking snitch.

Ugh. Maybe eating all that chocolate wasn't such a bright idea.

Hank frowns in confusion. "I didn't know I was supposed to expect one," he says slowly.

I shrug and glance away uncomfortably before finally chancing another look at him.

Our eyes lock for only a moment before I see the comprehension dawn in his gaze. And of course that's then followed by about a million questions forming on his lips that I  _really_  don't want to answer. I already feel bad enough as it is for even the veiled hint I just gave.

Hank can tell, too, because instead of pressing me on anything he merely clears his throat and murmurs, "I'll miss you. Tomorrow night, perhaps?"

God, I love him.

"Tomorrow," I agree.

* * *

"Vixen, hurry up," James hisses at me.

I roll my eyes and trudge after him and Myles, wishing I was pretty much anywhere else but here.

Just another night, another warehouse-

And another run-in with the X-Men.

I can only guess how Hank managed to clue the Professor in that something was going down tonight. Maybe he suggested some sort of routine check on Cerebro so Xavier would be hooked up and listening in to the Brotherhood's plans, I don't know.

However he did it, the X-Men are in position and waiting for us when we reach the inventory room. From the shadows of the hallway we're in I can see Jean- excuse me,  _Marvel Girl_ \- Cyclops, and Havok standing guard. Hank and the rest must be covering the other entrance.

"Let's go back," I murmur to James. "We won't be able to-"

My brother snorts derisively. "Don't be stupid, Vixen. We've got this."

I swear to God, if anyone's ego needs a big kick in the balls it would be James.

"Seriously, guys-"

But of course they ignore me. Both of my brothers take off down the hall, entering the large room in a full-frontal assault. They immediately engage all three of the X-Men waiting for them, even though they have no element of surprise and they're technically outnumbered.

Oh, Jesus. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be able to find the word "subtle" in the dictionary even if I spelled it for them.

But I guess I have to thank them for distracting the X-Men, as much as I hate to admit it. Now I should be able to sneak by their guard, no problem.

Damn. It looks like I'll have to at least  _pretend_  to try to complete this mission or run the risk of looking even more like a traitor than I already do to the rest of the Brotherhood.

Looking _like a traitor? You know you already_  are, _Babineaux._

With a guilty sigh I dart out from the hallway, making a beeline for a shelving unit because being out in the open makes me nervous. It's better to be under cover, just in case-

_That motherfucking cocksucker._

I  _barely_  manage to dodge the first laser beam Havok sends my way when he notices me trying to make a break for the supply shelves. The shot from his fancy chest plate is followed swiftly by a second and a third.

The fourth comes so closely on the heels of the last that I don't have time to evade it completely. It hits my upper arm, a glancing blow that still causes this odd sizzling sound and the acrid odor of scorched fabric.

And another smell.

A smell that comes to me in my nightmares sometimes, accompanied by the sound of crackling flames as my parents breathed their last. It's the smell of burning flesh.

Even though I don't feel the pain yet, the stench of my own skin roasting reaches my nose and almost makes me vomit on the spot. Instead I manage to dive behind a shelving unit for cover.

_Ok. Ok, Babineaux, keep calm,_  I tell myself as I crouch down and take deep breaths through my mouth so I don't barf. I keep waiting for the pain to hit, but it doesn't.

Shit.

That means it's a deep wound, probably a third-degree burn. I'm too scared to even look at it right now to check. I mean, I have a strong stomach and everything but seeing my own damn arm looking like barbecue would seriously be pushing it.

But even if I  _wanted_  to examine the wound, Havok doesn't give me the chance. He skids around the corner of the shelving unit I'm crouching behind mere moments after I take cover. His arm raises, ready to fire a close-range shot-

Without thinking I launch myself at him, turning in mid-air to land a solid kick to his chin. He stumbles backwards as I recover my footing but catches himself before he truly falls.

Before I can run past him, back towards the exit, Havok throws a retaliatory uppercut towards my jaw. I use my right forearm to block the blow- ugh,  _now_  my wound decides to sting a bit- and send a jab into his nose with my left. He grunts and grimaces in pain as it starts to bleed. It looks a little crooked now too, so I think I broke it.

Well,  _good._

I may not enjoy hurting people, but  _he_  fucking started this shit. I'm not exactly feeling sympathetic right now.

Havok tries a body shot on me this time, but I sidestep the blow easily, stomp on his instep, and throw my left elbow into another blow to his nose. Though his eyes are steaming he has the sense of mind to try to grab a hold of me with his still-extended arm, his fingers causing my burn to give a  _very_  painful throb as they scrape across it.

Oh, it fucking  _hurts._  But I'm also so hopped up on adrenaline that instead of passing out from the pain I snarl in his face- he flinches away reflexively from my fangs, mere inches away- and wrench myself free of his grip.

God dammit, he just  _won't stop_  coming at me. In a different situation I would admire his tenacity, but  _come on_. I just want to get away and  _leave,_  for Christ's sake. Otherwise I would've just turned tail and kept running  _forward._  Duh.

Havok throws another punch- again with his right arm- but this time I'm ready for it. I cross my arms, blocking the blow, and instead catch his wrist in the space between the backs of my hands. I then wrench my body sideways, plant my foot underneath his armpit, and  _pull._

His shoulder dislocates with a sickening  _pop!_

He groans and staggers backwards, cradling his now-useless arm.

And that's when the dizziness decides to set in. The world starts to spin on me, forcing me to lean against the shelf for support, clutching my wounded arm. My breathing becomes shallow, rapid, and my legs will barely support me.

Aw fuck. I think I might be going into shock.

_I'd say it's officially time to vacate the premises. At least now I have a valid excuse,_  I think to myself bitterly.

"Be more careful with your intensity setting. Are you trying to fucking kill someone?" I snap at Havok, gesturing towards his stupid chest plate.

He glowers at me as I stumble past him, but this time he doesn't try to stop me. I think he finally realized that I'm just trying to  _leave._  Took him long enough, damn.

_God, just don't let me puke on my way out of here. I don't think my pride would ever recover from that._


	60. Conflicting Loyalties

**Conflicting Loyalties**

God only knows how I make it back to the van we drove here in, but somehow I do.

I don't know how long I sit slumped over in the back seat, struggling to not black out. I can only manage to maintain a sort of twilight of half-consciousness that only just begins to lift when the rest of the Brotherhood joins me.

"Vixen, what the hell?" James snaps. "We're here for a mission and you decided to sneak back and take a fucking  _nap?"_

"Havok nailed my arm with a laser beam," I mutter defensively, shaking my head to break through the fog. I hate how fragile my voice still sounds.

My brother rolls his eyes. "So you backed out because you got a boo-boo. Jesus," he snarls, shaking his head disparagingly. "Since when did you become such a wimp, huh? Want some ice for your owie, Vivie?"

"Ice won't help," I tell him. Not on a third-degree burn, it won't.

James snorts, like I just proved the point for him. Myles rolls his eyes and Mastermind sneers at me.

As weak as it sounds, I find myself looking to Peter and Wanda for some sort of support against James' butt-hurt diatribe. It stings worse than the burn on my arm when I see that both of them look pretty unconvinced, too. Like they agree with my brother that I used a minor injury as an excuse not to push on with the mission.

Damn. I guess my stock has really sunk that low with these people.

And there's nothing I can even do to fix it anymore. I have a feeling anything I do would just be too little, too late.

"Let's just get back to base," Peter offers, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Wanda nods in agreement, purposely avoiding my eyes.

Well, shit. Saying "ouch" would actually be an understatement right now.

* * *

February 15, 1975

"Hello?" Hank's voice says through the phone the next night.

"Hey, baby, it's me," I whisper. I'm currently sitting on the kitchen counter in the dark, clutching the telephone receiver like it's a lifeline.

After the horrible ride back to base last night- during which I half-consciously sat surrounded by my teammates and yet felt so utterly alone- I've spent the day holed up in my room, avoiding all of them and trying my best to treat my arm on my own.

I could probably use some assistance getting rid of the little pieces of my jumpsuit that got melted to my skin, but my pride won't allow me to ask anyone here for a hand. Nope. They all think I'm faking, so  _fuck_  them. I don't think I should have to  _convince_  them that I'm serious, alright?

And I can't even ask Hank for help in this case. I can't really justify asking him to fix me up when I got this wound from one of his own fucking teammates, you know? I'll just suck it up.

"Vivien," Hank murmurs now, and as always I can hear the smile in his voice. Like just  _hearing_  me makes him happy. It's a balm for all the emotional hits I've been taking, knowing that  _someone,_  at least, still likes me. "How are you, darling?"

My laugh  _may_  or may not have a hysterical edge to it. "I've been better," I reply. "Can I see you tomorrow? Lunch, maybe?"

"Tomorrow? Sure," he agrees. "But are you alright? You sound a little upset."

"I just-"

_I just_  really  _need you to hold me right now_ , I finish silently. _I need you to_   _take me far away from here. Or better yet, mark me. Then I wouldn't be so torn up by all these conflicting loyalties anymore. It would just be me and you, forever._

But I can't really say that out loud, can I?

It's selfish to want Hank to claim me when I know damn well what the consequences would be. Mainly, losing my brothers forever. I mean, on the bright side of things I wouldn't have to feel responsible for them anymore. But that's only because I'd be too worried about them trying to hunt me and Hank down to kill us. Not exactly a good trade.

And then just running away? I can't do it. That would be the coward's way out.

That's not who I am.

"I just want a free lunch," I teasingly reply. "After all, I know my old-fashioned suitor would  _never_  let me pay for a meal."

He laughs, though he doesn't sound fully convinced. "Alright, then. Fair enough."

We make plans on where to meet and when before we ring off, leaving me something to look forward to. It's amazing, how much lighter my heart feels knowing that I'll see him tomorrow.

* * *

February 16, 1975

Unfortunately, falling into Hank's arms the next day does  _not_  provide the relief I hoped it would.

"Ouch," I mutter when his embrace makes my coat rub against the burn on my arm. My left hand reflexively goes to the wound, though that obviously doesn't do jack shit to help anything.

Hank pulls away slightly, his expression concerned. "'Ouch?' What's wrong, Vivien?"

"Nothing," I reply quickly.

He's not fooled, though. He frowns and brushes my jacket back far enough to see the burn on my upper arm.

I finally mustered up the guts to look at it once we got back to base, and  _damn,_  it's ugly. Angry red and white patches, about the size and shape of a bar of soap, and with blackened skin around the edges. It gives a painful throb every now and then, but for the most part it doesn't hurt. Much.

That scares me. I'm not a doctor (big no shit, Sherlock, on that one), but from what I've read I have a feeling the lack of pain means that the nerves are damaged. Not good.

But I'm hoping between my healing factor and time it'll be ok.

"Kinda hideous, right?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

"What happened?" Hank demands. His fingers trace around the burn, examining it thoroughly.

"Havok happened," I explain succinctly through gritted teeth. It still stings, no matter how gentle he's being.

He looks at me sharply. "Was this before or  _after_  you broke his nose and dislocated his arm?"

"Before," I snap, because the unspoken accusation hurt my feelings. "Then that asshole chased after me. I was just defending myself from Havok, alright? You should know by now that I don't  _start_  shit, Hank. I won't start a fight, but I  _will_  finish it."

I try to pull my arm out of Hank's grasp, but he doesn't let me go.

Instead he lets out an exasperated sigh. "You know, the two of you would probably get along quite well if you were ever given the chance," he tells me. "If you didn't kill each other first, anyway."

I scowl at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hank sighs again. "Nothing," he replies. He steps away and opens the back driver's side door of his car, gesturing for me to get in. "Here- I have a first aid kit in here. Your arm needs treatment, or you're-"

"No," I interject, shaking my head. At his incredulous look I say, "I got this on a mission, Hank. From one of your teammates. You can't just-"

"We're not on a mission now, Vivien," Hank protests.

"But I  _was_  when I got this," I argue. "We agreed when we started going out-"

"I don't care," he retorts firmly. "Right now you're  _not_  Vixen, and I'm not Beast. It doesn't matter how your injury happened. In this moment I only see you as my girlfriend, and you're hurt." His voice is almost shaking with emotion at this point. "Now  _please,_  get in the car and let me help you."

Jesus, I had no idea that my refusal would distress him so much. I mean, I knew he wouldn't  _like_  it and everything but I didn't expect him to get  _that_  upset. Me being hurt apparently freaks him out a lot.

I sigh and allow him to help me into the back seat. He goes around to the passenger side and gets in as well.

"Alright, here we are," he mutters to himself, pulling out his "first aid kit," which is the size of a fucking briefcase and holds enough crap to probably qualify for a small field hospital.

I snort. "You are  _such_  a boy scout, baby," I tell him.

"It never hurts to be prepared," he says sheepishly, to which I laugh.

Hank is silent as he gets to work, his brow furrowed in concentration as he gives me a shot of lidocaine and starts to clean the burn. I find it easier to watch his face than to look down at what he's doing just because it's fucking creepy to see him picking threads of fabric out of my flesh without being able to actually feel it.

He looks so...  _intense,_  I suppose. So focused and sure of his own ability to heal, not torn by indecision or worry like he occasionally is. It's like I'm seeing a whole new side of my Hank, though I guess this is how he probably looked when he saved my life back in October.

And I thought he couldn't get any sexier.

"What?" Hank asks, finally noticing how intently I'm watching him.

I half-shrug. "You're good at this," I tell him.

He makes a noncommittal hum. "I have to be," he says, still focused. "The alternative doesn't bear thinking of."

Because if he messes up, people could  _die._  People he cares about.

I can only imagine how much that fear- the fear of fucking up, of not being able to save someone else the way he couldn't save Sean Cassidy back in the day- affects my poor Hank, though he doesn't show it. Talk about pressure.

"No, I guess not," I agree. Then, after a few minutes of silence I ask, "did you design Havok's chest plate thingy?"

_You know, the thing that turned my arm into a piece of charcoal?_

"I did," Hank replies warily. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

He looks up from his work for the first time. "It's supposed to focus his energy output and absorb the excess," he explains. "So he can't kill anyone as long as the setting is low."

I glance down at my arm rather pointedly. Pretty sure if someone took a full hit like that to the chest they'd be a piece of human toast.

Hank frowns. "I'll do a maintenance check," he promises. "To make sure it's not malfunctioning."

"Maybe he upped the voltage himself," I mutter sulkily.

He winces. "Possibly, though I doubt it," he says. "Alex killed someone with his powers once, in a moment when he lost control. It's not something I can see him doing again."

"But the energy focusing thing would make it easier to do."

"That's not the intention of it, but yes, it would," Hank agrees reluctantly. His expression becomes rather wistful. "The science behind making all of my designs is so pure, Vivien. It's simply finding a practical solution to a problem, without consideration as to how my creations will be used in the field. Sometimes I miss being able to design things without having to contemplate the consequences of their effectiveness. To think only of the function of an invention, and not its practical purpose and application. As much as I try to detach myself from it, sometimes I fear I do my job  _too_  well."

"So you wish your science didn't involve other people and their crummy intentions?" I guess.

He smiles bitterly. "Essentially, yes," he agrees. "But that's not how the world works."

"No," I murmur thoughtfully. "It doesn't."

My poor, gentle Hank.

He designs the equipment for the X-Men, yeah, but at what cost to himself? He enjoys creating things, but the purpose of his inventions is to harm other people. It's a necessary evil, but I can understand why it bothers him.

He seems so calm on the surface, so quiet and shy.

I have a feeling no one else knows this stuff about Hank, just because they've never taken the time to peel back that outer layer of reserve. No one else realizes how much pressure he feels to keep his teammates alive, both by healing them when they're injured and by maintaining their equipment. How much guilt he feels because he has to use his gifts to create weapons to hurt others.

Far from having less respect for him because of these feelings, it honestly makes me love him more. How could I  _not?_  His humanity, and the compassion he feels towards other people- they make Hank  _beautiful_  in my eyes.

Jesus, sometimes I wonder why a guy like him even gives me the time of day.

He finishes bandaging my arm. "I want to check this again on Tues-"

I cut him off by hooking my hand around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. After a moment's hesitation Hank responds, shoving his tools out of the way so I can scoot closer and wrap my leg around his thigh as I kiss him for all I'm worth.

It feels like no time at all before he's breaking off the kiss and taking deep, calming breaths through his nose. My Beastie Boy is obviously threatening to make an appearance.

"What was that for?" Hank murmurs finally, tenderly brushing his fingers across my face.

I grin. "Because right now I'm Vivien, and you're Hank," I reply. "So I can."

He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment before nodding slowly. "So you can," he agrees, holding me close.


	61. Road Trip

**Road Trip**

Months pass.

As time goes on Hank and I get bolder about our meetings, though we're definitely not stupid about it. There's a couple near-misses, sure, but no one ever actually notices either of us sneaking out to see each other.

By now we've stopped  _constantly_  thinking about getting caught and relaxed just a tad. That's good for Hank, I think, because he's such a big worrywart. I don't want the poor guy to have an aneurysm or something.

We're still careful, though. Fucking up just isn't an option when the stakes are this high.

But we're also happy.

Or as happy as we can be under the circumstances. Both of us wish we could have more, but since we  _can't,_  we try to take joy out of what we  _do_  have together. It's pretty unorthodox and probably wouldn't make sense to anyone else, but it's what we have.

And I wouldn't give it away for the world.

* * *

May 1, 1975

_Well I know I'm going to sleep good tonight, damn,_  I muse to myself as a huge yawn overtakes me.

I'm currently leaning against a tree a couple miles down the road from the gates to the X-Mansion, waiting for Hank to drive by. It's about three-thirty in the morning right now- I got up an hour ago to get here- and I'm still feeling a little groggy.

_Coffee, Babineaux. Your first stop on this road trip is_  coffee.

Because that's why I'm standing here: Hank and I are taking a road trip to Ocean City today.

We planned everything out, making sure to pick a date when no one would notice if we were gone all day. We're leaving stupidly early so we can watch the sunrise together on the beach.

Hey, it  _seemed_  like a nice, romantic idea at the time. Now I'm just sleepy.

I step out from the treeline when I hear a car approaching from the direction of the school. Who else would it be but Hank at this ungodly hour?

Sure enough, it's my man. He slams on the brakes when he catches sight of me in his headlights and lets his car idle as I step closer and let myself in.

"You almost gave me a heart attack," he grouches as I hop into the passenger seat.

"Well aren't you just a little ray of sunshine this morning," I tease sarcastically, raising my eyebrows at him. "Good morning, Hank."

He sighs and leans across the gear shift to give me a kiss. "Good morning, darling," he says, still a little grumpy. "But what happened to meeting at the gas station in Salem Center?"

"I know it's early, but you've lived here so long there's still a chance that someone might recognize you around here," I explain. "I think it'd be better if we went to the next town over to load up on snacks and stuff."

Am I being paranoid, or just covering all the bases? It's hard to tell sometimes.

"You have a point," Hank reluctantly agrees.

He puts the car in gear, and off we go.

We make good time, thanks to how freaking early it is, after we stop and grab coffee and snacks (Twinkies, of course, along with a bag of chips and a bunch of candy) from a gas station.

Despite the fact that it's ridiculous o'clock, we still manage to have fun. Being around Hank is  _always_  fun, really.

"Elvis or Buddy Holly?" I ask at one point, holding up a couple of the 8-tracks I brought with me in a knapsack. Because no road trip is complete without music.

"Elvis," he replies.

The strains of "It's Now or Never" begin to fill the car. Hank smiles fondly as I start to sing along.

"Sing with me," I coax.

He shakes his head. "You don't want to hear me sing," he hedges. "I'm terrible."

"You can't be  _that_  bad, can you?" I say incredulously.

When Hank glances over at me I give him a sweet smile and bat my eyelashes at him.

He sighs. "Fine. But remember- you asked for it," he warns.

_Oh my sweet baby Jesus._

It's a struggle from the moment he starts to sing not to laugh at how terrible he is. I clap my hands over my mouth to stop myself from bursting into giggles because he's just butchering the damn thing. My poor Hank is truly tone deaf.

Halfway through the song my restraint gives out. "Oh, my God," I gasp through my guffaws, doubling over in my seat.

"I told you so," he mutters sullenly. His ears are bright red from embarrassment, which is completely adorable of course.

I smile. "You are so damn cute. I absolutely  _adore_  you, Hank McCoy," I tell him honestly.

Hank immediately gets that special, happy look in his eyes as he glances over at me.

"The feeling is mutual, Vivien Babineaux."

* * *

The beach is deserted when we arrive in Ocean City- I guess because most people aren't dumb enough to be up this early unless they have to be. Hank spreads out the blanket he brought and takes a seat, and then I settle down between his legs so he can snuggle me close.

"You cold?" I ask him, because there's a breeze blowing in off the water.

"Not with you sitting like this," he replies, squeezing me slightly. I'm like a little space heater because my body temperature is so much higher than a normal person's.

I smile and lean back into his embrace.

The sky is lightening, thanks to the coming sunrise. It turns the puffy little clouds all sorts of lovely shades of purple, pink and orange. The colors are doubled as they reflect down on the water, which stretches out as far as the eye can see. It's hard to imagine that this same ocean touches places like Africa and Spain.

The size is honestly pretty difficult for me to fathom. It's weird to think about how me and Hank are just little specks on the edge of this giant ocean, nothing more. Like a couple of grains of sand on this beach.

"How big is the Atlantic Ocean, Hank?" I ask in a whisper. I don't want to break the stillness that hangs in the air, despite the breeze. It's always still just before dawn, isn't it? Almost like the world is holding its breath as it waits for the sun.

"Forty-one million, eight thousand square miles," Hank answers, after a moment's thought.

I chuckle. "I can't believe you know that," I murmur affectionately. I turn enough to kiss his cheek. "Nerd."

He shrugs modestly. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm feeling rather insignificant in the face of the big blue this morning," I explain. "I was just wondering if I should be feeling it more, I suppose."

Hank laughs. "We're all insignificant in the grand scheme of things, darling."

True, that.

His words about being insignificant make me think of how hard I've been trying to talk sense into my brothers and the twins. Mostly by making passive-aggressive comments about species equality and Magneto's hypocrisy in the hopes that it will make them stop and think. I can't really do much more or else Magneto will off me, but I'm  _trying._

I'm just...  _failing._

I feel so helpless in the face of such overwhelming odds, so inconsequential. It's a big, wide world out there, and I'm just one person. I can't even make my own brothers stop and listen, and they're my fucking  _family._  I want to fix things, to help other people, but how the hell is one person supposed to really accomplish  _anything_  in this fucked up world?

"Yeah," I mutter in response to Hank's observation. "We are."

He's quiet for a moment, and when he does speak I'm surprised that he has words of encouragement for me, rather than a plea for me to leave the Brotherhood.

"That's not to say one person can't make a marked impact on the world though, right?" he murmurs. "Gavrilo Princip basically started World War I single-handedly when he assassinated Franz Ferdinand of Austria. And Raven killing Bolivar Trask is what set off the events that led to the Sentinel takeover in the future Logan came back to prevent."

I snort. "Sounds like it's pretty easy for one person to completely mess the world up," I observe dryly. "But almost impossible to change it for the better."

"Maybe my examples leave something to be desired," Hank concedes. "But Vivien- think about what you've done for Marcel and the rest in Hell's Kitchen. I don't think some of them would've made it through the winter without your help." He reaches up and gently strokes my face. "You changed  _their_  lives, didn't you? An act of kindness from one person to another might not change the entire world, but it definitely changes the life of the recipient of a kind deed.  _I_  certainly think that's still admirable."

I stare at him for a long moment, contemplating that.

He's such an idealist with the way he makes what I've been doing in Hell's Kitchen seem like such a big deal, when it's really not. My friends are still homeless. Now they're just a little more better off, is all.

Because kind deeds changing the world at large... from what I've seen, it just doesn't work. But if Hank is going to believe that, I'm not going to try to convince him otherwise.  _One_  of us needs to be an optimist, and it sure as hell isn't me.

"Doing good deeds?" I say aloud, smiling wryly. "Sounds like more peacenik bullshit, you goody-goody."

Hank grins back at me. "You know that happens to be my specialty," he replies flippantly.

Well he's not wrong, there.

Not when he's taught me so much about hope and compassion and all of these other soft emotions I abandoned a long time ago to survive. I might tease him about it sometimes but I really am thankful for it. Hank has helped me rediscover a kinder version of myself, one I nearly forgot about after Myles went nuts.

I chuckle and lean in to kiss him.

And then together we watch the sun rise.

* * *

It's a fun day all around.

We go to breakfast at a beachfront diner, and then afterwards wander around the boardwalk. After window-shopping for a bit I spy a miniature golf course down the beach a little.

"Oh, this is happening," I announce, tugging Hank along.

"It is?"

"Hell yeah, it is," I reply. "I love playing games when I know I'm going to win."

I'm self-aware enough to know that I can be a sore loser, alright? And maybe not so magnanimous in victory, either. I'm not perfect, so sue me.

Hank looks a little insulted. "Are you that confident of your skills?"

"Yup," I agree smugly. I grin at him. "Wanna try to take me down a notch?"

He laughs. "I have a bad feeling about this," he mutters. "But I'll give it my best effort."

To make a long story short, I completely kick his ass.

Hank's just got no hope against my superior hand-eye coordination and athleticism. The guy has plenty of expertise when it comes to building delicate inventions and shit, but for anything sports-related I just mop the floor with him.

"Want to try again?" I joke. "Best two out of three?"

"I'll pass," Hank replies, chuckling sheepishly. "My pride can only handle so much."

I laugh and allow him to lead me over to the amusement park, where we take a ride on everything at least once. It's a total blast.

On the way out I notice a photo booth.

"Want to take a picture with me?" I ask hopefully, pointing it out.

Hank winces. "Not really," he says. When he sees the hurt in my face he quickly adds, "not because of you, darling. I hate seeing photographs of myself."

"It wouldn't be photos of  _you,_  it would be photos of  _us._  And we don't even have  _any_  of us together," I retort. I immediately sense him weakening as his expression twists into a guilty frown. To press my advantage I stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and bat my eyelashes at him. "Please, baby?"

He sighs. "Alright, fine," he reluctantly agrees.

"Yay!" I cheer, clapping my hands in delight.

After giving him another kiss I pull him over to the photo booth, practically dragging him along.

"Smile," I order brightly, settling down on his lap once I push him onto the seat inside. Hank wraps his arms around me with a rather resigned look on his face. "And not like you're in pain, either. Pretend you're happy, dammit."

This coaxes a decent smile out of him, thankfully.

We kiss for the next photo, but I think the last one is my favorite by far. It's that moment after the kiss, immediately after pulling away. Hank's eyes are as lit up as Christmas trees while he looks at me like I'm his whole world. The love is written all over his face.

Afterwards we each take our own copy of the pictures. I stick mine in my purse for safe-keeping, knowing that I'm going to cherish them until the day I die.

"Was that really so bad?" I tease.

"No," Hank admits, looking down at the little slip of photographs in his hand with a goofy, contented smile. You know, he seems  _really_  pleased for someone who didn't want to get his picture taken. He clears his throat and puts them in his wallet. "No, it wasn't."


	62. Sabotage

**Sabotage**

May 5, 1975

"Hey, Sissy," Myles greets me the kitchen a few days later. "We've got a mission tonight. You, me, Fox and the twins."

I can't stop myself from snorting into my French toast.

"What?" he demands, brow puckered.

_Why do you guys even bother taking me along anymore?_  I want to say, but I guess I already know the answer.

They want me to feel "included." Even though I'm not.

Because as much as they don't trust me and I don't trust them, we all care about each other. No one wants to upset this teetering balance and force me to walk away. None of us wants to lose each other for good. We're all groping around in the dark, trying to convince one another that what we believe is the right way so we can all go back to being one big happy family or whatever.

I'm starting to have a bad feeling that what we all want is impossible.

"Nothing, Myles," I tell my brother. "When do we leave?"

* * *

Our mission for the night turns out to be hitting up a cancer research facility for supplies.

And I can't keep my mouth shut about it.

"So we've fallen so far that now we're stealing shit from people trying to cure cancer," I announce loudly in the back seat when I catch sight of the welcome sign, once James drives us up to the building. "That's just awesome."

"It's not like that, Vivien," Peter protests.

"Sure it isn't," I mutter. I hop out of the van. "Let's just get this over with."

"Hey," James snaps, getting out of the car. He slams his door shut and watches me warily. "You're with me tonight, alright?"

So he can keep an eye on me, is the subtext on that one. Because apparently I need a babysitter now.

Well, fine.

If they're going to treat me like a misbehaving child I can sure as hell  _act_  like one.

"Ok," I agree, smiling sweetly at my brother. "Lead the way,  _Fox."_

He looks surprised at my easy acquiescence, but quickly recovers. I follow him as together he and I peel off from the others and head over to one of the building's fire escapes. We scale it easily up to the roof and enter through the access door.

Once we're inside we go down two floors before James pauses uncertainly.

"Lost?" I ask cheerfully.

_"No,"_  he retorts.

"Uh huh."

What a liar.

Within minutes it's pretty damn clear James has no idea where he's going. I can hear him grinding his teeth in frustration as we walk around aimlessly while I trail behind him and try not to laugh. He's so damn pigheaded.

Wandering around gets boring pretty fast, though. "If you give me a hint I might be able to point you in the right direction," I finally offer.

He grimaces. "The freezer," he admits sullenly. I can tell it hurt his pride to tell me that.

"Aw, see? Was that so hard?" I tease, patting him on the cheek as I pass by to take the lead.

I haven't gone two steps before I smell them.

The X-Men.

Hank and the rest of his buddies are lying in wait in this building, ready to foil the Brotherhood's plans.

If they can  _catch_  us, anyway. Then we won't be able to  _steal_  anything from people trying to do the world a good turn by curing fucking  _cancer._

Hmm...

"Come on, Fox," I say brightly. "This way."

I start practically skipping along, not my normal silent steps at all.

"See, Fox," I tell my brother as I lead him down the hall, "these buildings tend to have the same set-up. You've got your offices all grouped together, the break room near those, and then all the labs will be on the other side. Your freezer will be connected to the lab."

I open a set of double doors into a sterile white room.

"But before you get into a lab you always have to go through a clean room," I continue as we enter said room. I'm speaking in a normal voice, not bothering with stealth at all. "But once you're through that-"

We enter a laboratory full of kittens and puppies locked up in tiny cages. God, the people who run this joint must be using the poor things as test subjects.

Hank would probably say that sometimes that's necessary for scientific advancement and blah blah blah, but still. Pretty heartless, in my opinion.

"Keep your voice down, Vixen," my brother gripes sourly. "Can't you smell the X-Geeks stinking up the place?"

Why  _yes,_  indeed I have.

"My bad," I say, though I can't say I sound all that sincere.

James bares his teeth at me and keeps walking, moving towards the next door.

But I stay put.

Because Hank's here.  _Here,_  in this very room.

Don't ask me how I know- it could be his scent, I guess, or maybe it's the way my body literally feels more  _alive_  when he's around. Maybe it's a bit of both. I just know he's here.

"You coming?" my brother demands impatiently, already on the other side of the room. He's so close to the door that I'm surprised Hank hasn't shown himself already, him and whoever's paired with him on this mission.

I wonder if he's delaying an attack because of  _me?_  Because he's reluctant to start a fight with me involved? It definitely sounds plausible.

An idea occurs to me.

No matter  _how_  unhappy I've been with the Brotherhood lately, I haven't been able to tell Hank about much because he wouldn't actually be able to  _do_  anything with the information except get a fucking ulcer about it. Me being the source of knowledge means that his hands would be tied on sharing it for fear of exposing our relationship.

But right now is a different story, isn't it? And I have questions that need answers, anyway.

Add to that the fact that I think this mission is morally wrong and, well- let's just I'm not all that eager to get to that freezer.

"What exactly are we here for, Fox?" I ask, petting a kitten through the bars of its cage.

"What do you mean?" James says, and he actually sounds a little surprised. "Mags didn't tell you?"

Like Magneto tells me anything, anymore. But I still have to make the effort to appear informed.

"Of course," I lie. "I just don't understand why."

"We're here to get some muta- mutane-"

"Mutagenic?" I guess, strolling along the aisle.

"Yeah. Mutagenic stuff for Stryker to work with," my brother explains.

No fucking way.

"Stryker?" I repeat, and I'm so startled I can't stop my shock from bleeding through my composure. "What the hell does Stryker have to do with any of this?"

Stryker.

That rat-faced bastard. What the fuck are we getting stuff for  _him_  to work with for? I want to know how on earth he went from wanting to experiment on mutants to apparently helping  _Magneto,_  of all people?

_None_  of this makes any sense.

"You mean you don't know? Well, then, I'm not going to tell you," James announces condescendingly. I bet he just  _loves_  the idea of knowing something that I don't.

"Why not?"

"Because there's obviously a reason  _Magneto_  hasn't told you," he replies. "Maybe he thinks you'll kill Stryker if you can get your hands on him. Or maybe..." His smug grin makes me want to claw the expression right off his face. "Maybe he just doesn't trust you enough."

God, this is all so much worse than I thought.

I mean, I  _knew_  that the other members of the Brotherhood were keeping shit from me. I've known that for a long time.

But the fact that they don't know that I'm  _completely_  out of the loop tells me that none of  _them_  even have all of the facts in this situation. We're all in the dark in some way or another, with no one sure of who knows what.

Jesus.

Suddenly the situation is a lot more clear- in one regard, at least. This whole thing  _wreaks_  of Magneto's manipulations. After all, it's easier to keep control of everyone if  _he's_ the only one who has all the cards, right? It's obvious that his plan of action is to divide and control his followers.

The scheming, unscrupulous  _bastard._

Can I make the rest of the Brotherhood see that, somehow? If we all united and shared the information that each of us has, maybe the current situation would be clearer. Maybe they'd all realize that they're being manipulated, and want to stop Magneto, too...

"But  _you_  can tell me," I press my brother. "I'm your sister, James."

"That doesn't matter," he snaps. "The mission is more important."

If he  _stabbed_  me it would've hurt less than hearing that.

My own brother is choosing this stupid mission over me, his sister. He's choosing  _Magneto_  over me. Is there any hope at all for me to break through to James?

Right now it sure as hell doesn't feel like it.

_He's been blinded by Magneto, that's why,_  I tell myself desperately.

The alternative, that he's doing this shit because he truly believes it's right, doesn't bear thinking about.

I clear my throat and murmur, "fair enough."

"Glad you're being reasonable for once," my brother says spitefully. "Now, let's go."

God, I need a moment to regroup, to  _think._ To figure out my next move in this chess match. Because right now I feel completely unbalanced and unprepared. Unsafe.

I suddenly spy the release for all the cage doors, a big red button practically  _begging_  for someone to push it.

_Why hello there. What a perfect diversion._

"No, I think I'm going to stay in here and let all these animals out," I reply to James in a dead monotone. It's the only way I know how to conceal how much I'm hurting right now.

He drifts back towards me, away from the door. "Why?" he rudely demands.

"So they won't be experimented on anymore, obviously."

"What does it even matter?" my brother scoffs. "It's not like you're changing anything, not really. And besides, we have a mission to complete."

"I don't give a shit about this mission," I retort.

"Whatever. But you're still not-"

"A small act of kindness may not change the world," I interject sharply, "but it  _does_  change the world for the recipient of that kind act."

Could it really have only been the other day that Hank said that to me? A beautiful day spent with the man I love, watching the waves roll over our feet on the beach and getting sunburned and covered in sand. An entire day where we forgot how impossible everything is and just enjoyed each other. That trip to Ocean City feels like it happened a million years ago.

James snorts derisively. "What kind of hippie horseshit is that?" he jeers. "You going soft on me, sis-"

I dart over to the cage release button.

_"Don't you dare!"_

Oh, I dare alright.

James sprints across the room, but he's too late to stop me.

The clicks of the cage doors releasing echo around the room. Then a high-pitched alarm goes off, complete with red lights flashing on the ceiling. The noise startles the animals so much that some of them jump and hit the doors, allowing them to tumble out of their little prisons.

_Run free, my pretties!_

Wow. I guess I'm completely a traitor now, aren't I? I've officially graduated to sabotaging missions...

"God dammit, Vixen!" James yells.

I'm too busy watching the kittens and puppies getting their first taste of freedom- and admittedly a little lost in thought over my new role as Benedict Arnold in this whole mess- to see the blow coming. I'm unprepared. I take my brother's slap full across the face and hiss in pain.

There's a loud growl from behind the desk set towards the side of the room, followed by some scuffling sounds. That would be Hank, instinctively reacting to his mate's distress.

Oh great,  _now_  he decides to make a move? Crap, did he just give himself away in front of another X-Man?

"Great, are you fucking happy now?" James snarls at me. "Mission aborted. Let's get out of here before the X-Geeks show up."

_Little late for that,_  I think to myself as I see Hank and Jean poking their heads out from behind the desk.

I'm a little relieved that it's Jean- er,  _Marvel Girl_ \- with him tonight. Of all the X-Men, she's the one that hates me the least. Maybe that means she won't tell on Hank for reacting so protectively to my brother hitting me? I sure as hell hope so.

James and I make for the exit, but I pause on my way out to glance back at our audience. They're making no move to pursue us- I'm guessing because we're obviously leaving and everything.

Jean's expression seems torn between worry and- admiration, maybe?- as she looks at me.

But Hank, Hank's gaze zeroes right in on my cheek, where I know there's probably already a mark showing up from that slap James just gave me. My mate's face twists into an enraged grimace at the evidence of someone hurting me.

I shake my head and try to find a reassuring smile for him, to let him know that there was no harm really done.

And then I take off after my brother, straight into the firestorm that I know is waiting for me.


	63. Why Can't You See?

**Why Can't You See?**

We regroup back at the van, piling in wordlessly to facilitate a quick getaway.

"What happened?" Wanda asks once we're on the road. "What was that alarm about?"

"It was Vixen," James snarls. I can sense him fuming from all the way in the back of the van. "She hit the cage release for a bunch of test subjects and triggered the fucking alarm."

As one, everybody rounds on me.

Being in the hot seat makes my hackles raise, my fighting instincts come out with a vengeance. Rather than acting defensive about what I just did, I decide to go straight on the attack.

"Why didn't anyone tell me that we're working with Stryker?" I demand preemptively. "After all that bastard's done, we're  _helping_  him? What the fuck, guys?"

The twins exchange loaded glances.

"We didn't tell you about Stryker because we thought you would kill him," Wanda explains, her tone gentle and reasonable. "We know how much you hate him, but right now we need him."

Oh, right. They still think that I would wring the guy's neck if I got my hands on him. After all, part of the reason I agreed to join the Brotherhood all those months ago was to get a better shot at the bastard. Of course none of them would know that I had my chance at Stryker and decided to let him go.

But now I press on, because at least it feels like we're finally getting somewhere.

"What's he doing?" I ask. "What are  _we_  doing?"

A heavy silence.

"See, none of you even know the full story," I remark, laughing bitterly. "God, can't any of you see that Magneto is  _manipulating_  all of you?"

"We know what's going on, Vivien," James corrects. "We just can't tell you."

"Why?" I snap, even as my heart sinks. "Because you know I won't play along? Because in your heart you know that what he's asking you to do is  _wrong?"_

_"You_  might think it's wrong, and that's why we didn't tell you," Wanda interjects. "We're doing what needs to be done, but we all know that you're more...  _sensitive_  about some things."

"We're just trying to protect you, Vixie," Peter adds pleadingly.

_"Lying_  to me is not protecting me, dammit!" I practically shout. "Come  _on,_  guys!"

I turn desperately to Myles, who's been fidgety and silent this whole time.

"Myles, can you tell me what's going on?"

"Vivien, leave him alone," James says sharply from the front seat.

I ignore him.

"Why are we working with Stryker, Myles?" I press.

My little brother shakes his head, his expression grave. "I can't tell you that, Sissy."

"Myles," I plead, "come on, baby bro. Remember what that guy  _did_  to you? And you're ok  _working_  with him?"

God, I feel like  _the_  worst of the worst, bringing this shit up right now. I feel like I'm being just as manipulative as I've been accusing Magneto of being, but what choice have they left me?

Myles' eyes take on this creepy manic gleam. Bizarrely, he starts to giggle- like I just told a hilarious joke or something.

"Jackal," James warns, though it almost sounds like he's smiling too.

What the fuck?

"Yes, it's fine," Myles finally answers me, smothering his insane grin. "Our duty to our kind is more important than a grudge, Sissy."

Sounds like a bullshit excuse to me.

I snarl in frustration and face forward in my seat, silently seething. Right now I hate  _all_  of them.

_This is it for me,_  I think grimly. _They're going to have to tell Magneto that I sabotaged the mission, and it's not a stretch to figure out what he's going to do then._

I honestly don't expect to live to see dawn.

* * *

May 6, 1975

But by some miracle, I do.

For whatever reason, Magneto decided to not kill me after my traitorous activities. I mean, that's what happened, right? He chose not to get rid of me, after the others told him what went down last night.

Didn't he?

Pretty much abandoning  _all_  sense of caution, I decide to question James, Peter, and Wanda about it when I see them in the kitchen the next day.

"So what did Dadneto say when you told him about what happened last night?" I ask, watching them all carefully. I'm supposed to go see Hank in a minute, but my morbid curiosity is kinda overwhelming my sense of punctuality right now.

The twins exchange worried glances, but my brother just eyes me with barely-concealed anger and a boatload of exasperation.

"We didn't tell him," Wanda replies quietly. "We didn't think he would- er,  _take it_  very well."

I snort and shake my head, about to turn away-

"You should be grateful," James growls at me. "You know damn well what Mags would do if he heard about it. We're covering for you this time, but from now on-"

This makes my hackles raise. "Sounds like you're threatening me, James."

"He's not," Peter interjects desperately. "He's just-  _warning_  you, Vixie. We covered for you this time, but we're not going to be able to do it again."

"Why even bother?" I demand.

"Because we care about you," Wanda replies, her expression forlorn.

That shakes me a bit.

They may not trust me enough to tell me what they're doing, but they all still care about me. Just as  _I_  still care about  _them._  We all love each other, but there's just too much shit keeping us from being one big happy family. The whole situation kills me.

"I care about you guys, too," I tell them. "Guys- can't you see how  _wrong_  this is? You're keeping stuff from Magneto because you're afraid he's going to kill me. That's not  _normal_  and it sure as hell isn't  _right."  
_

"Dammit, Vivien," my brother snaps. "We're trying to  _save_  you and you're really going to lecture us? How about some fucking gratitude?"

"Sorry I'm not going to trip all over myself to thank all of you for not tattling to your psycho boss," I retort. Maybe I  _should_  be more grateful, I don't know. But I can't- not in this situation. "And I'm not going to apologize for doing what I believe is the right thing. I would do it again in a heartbeat."

The words hang in the air like a declaration of war.

"So you're saying that you would go against your own family, huh?" James demands spitefully. Trying to lay a guilt-trip on me, great. Using my own sense of loyalty against me. "You-"

"Don't you fucking dare, James. You do  _not_  get to use that card against me," I hiss. "Not after you chose Magneto over telling me the truth last night. Family obviously doesn't mean jack shit to you."

I'm so pissed and unbelievably hurt that I can't even see straight anymore. And I'm running late for my date with Hank, anyway.

"Fuck this," I mutter. "Right now I can't even stand the sight of you."

With that I turn on my heel and walk away.

"Vivien-" Peter calls after me, but I ignore him.

"Where do you think you're going?" James angrily demands.

"Out," I snarl. "And away from you."

* * *

I notice that my hands are shaking when it takes me a couple tries to get my car keys into the ignition. As soon as I realize it the trembling stops.

_Well you've really screwed the pooch now, Babineaux,_ I think to myself grimly. I lean my head against the steering wheel. _Good fucking luck getting them to tell you_  anything  _after that little showdown._

Which means snooping around is my only option from now on. It's going to be dangerous, but my options are getting too limited for anything else. And finding more information is imperative at this point.

My gut is telling me that something bad is happening. I mean, with Stryker involved it can't really be anything  _but_  horrible. I  _have_  to figure out what's going on and put a stop to it, no matter what it takes.

I start the car with a heavy sigh, headed for Hell's Kitchen and the only person I know for sure is on my side anymore.

* * *

I decide to skip stopping at my safe house to change clothes because I'm so horribly late for meeting Hank at our usual light pole already. Since my dad's guitar is still in the trunk of this car and I have some bags of canned goods it's not really necessary to waste time and make myself even  _more_  late to see him.

Thankfully the pickpockets and low-lives that hang out in Hell's Kitchen know better than to mess with him anymore because they're scared of me, but I don't want my man to give up waiting for me and leave.

Thank God he's still there.

"Hey, baby," I say, setting down my guitar case and the paper bags of food I brought. "Sorry I'm late."

"It's fine," Hank assures me. He pulls me in for a hug, burying his nose in my hair. "I was getting a little worried, though."

I chuckle and stand on tiptoe to kiss him.  _"You,_  worried?" I tease. "Since when?"

The joke falls flat with him.

Instead of laughing he cups my face with one hand and frowns as he looks me over. His gaze lingers on the shadows I know are under my eyes from lack of sleep and the bruise from the slap James gave me.

And here I was, hoping Hank would just be happy to see me. Instead he's gotta be all concerned over my well-being and shit.

I sigh. "Did you tell the X-Men about Stryker?"

He nods. "Any idea why the Brotherhood is working with him?"

I shake my head. "No. And no one will  _tell_  me, either," I reply bitterly. I frown, feeling frustrated beyond words. "Not even Myles."

"Myles knows?" Hank looks shocked. Can't say I blame him- I'm still having a hard time processing it myself.

I nod. "Yeah. And when I tried to remind him of what that scumbag did to him Myles just told me that our duty to our kind is more important. Great, he gets that  _now,_  over this kind of thing, right?" I say exasperatedly. I lean my forehead against Hank's chest, allowing myself a moment of weakness as I confess, "I don't know what to do, Hank. My own brothers won't tell me what the hell is going on, but I know if Stryker's involved it  _can't_  be good."

Hank wraps his arms around me. "You'll think of something, darling. I know you will," he murmurs. "Just remember that I'm here for you if you need me."

Crazy, isn't it, that he's gone from being my occasional adversary to being literally the only person that I really trust to be in my corner? I'm not even sure when that happened. I just know I'm grateful for him.

I lift my head and try to smile. "I know you are, baby," I whisper, and I meet him halfway when he leans down to kiss me.

For a few seconds I let myself forget about everything except losing myself in him- his touch, his soft lips, the adorable sounds he makes-

I break away and look over my shoulder, searching for the pair of eyes I felt on my back just now.

It's hard to explain, but it's almost like my instincts compelled me to act before my brain even registered the feeling that we were being watched.

But by who?

"What's wrong?" Hank asks anxiously. "Vivien? Do you think you were followed?"

I visually comb through the crowd, searching for a familiar face and coming up empty. Maybe the constant stress and threat of danger is making me overreact, I don't know. "No, I guess not," I reply slowly. "I just felt... for a second it felt like we were being watched."

He holds me tightly as he scans the area over my head. "We won't go to your safe house after our visit," he says quietly. "Just in case."

I nod in agreement, but I can't shake my unease. "Ok."

We try to pretend everything's normal while we visit our friends, but neither of us can really shake the apprehension we both feel. The fear hangs over us like a cloud.

"What's wrong, baby girl?" Marcel asks, slinging an arm over my shoulders. "Hank bein' bad? You need me to whoop his ass for you?"

_These guys have enough issues without me piling on,_  I tell myself firmly _. Don't bring trouble to their door._

I grin at Marcel. "Hank's always being bad," I reply. "That's part of why I like him so much."

Hank flushes bright red when I glance over at him and wink lasciviously.

"Uh- I, um-" he stutters hopelessly.

All of us laugh at his fumbling- just a moment of teasing and fun among friends.

"He's so damn cute," Marcel says, sighing. "You ever get tired of him, let me know."

This, of course, makes Hank blush even more. To the point where I'm afraid his brain is going to cook itself.

"Will do," I tell Marcel, chuckling. "But don't hold your breath."

I snuggle up next to Hank, trying to act like everything is alright, like my world isn't teetering on a big fat cliff. I know he can sense my anxiety because he reaches out and gently squeezes my hand in reassurance, a gesture that probably looks innocuous to everyone else.

Only the two of us know that I'm gripping onto his hand like a lifeline.


	64. Anyone Hear a Fan Blowing? (Peter POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Peter's point-of-view! It picks up midway through chapter 63.

**Anyone Hear a Fan Blowing?**

"Fuck this," Vivien mutters. "Right now I can't even stand the sight of you."

She turns on her heel and storms out of the kitchen.

"Vivien-" I call desperately.

She ignores me. Somehow that silence hurts more than her words.

And that's saying something. She just told us all that even though she cares about us she's not going to apologize for ruining the mission last night. That she's going to keep doing that if she has to, because she believes what we're doing is wrong.

"Where do you think you're going?" Fox demands.

"Out," Vivien snarls. "And away from you."

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air following her angry exit. I can barely believe what just happened- how mad she was at all of us, when we were only trying to keep her safe from my dad after she messed up so bad. When we're just trying to do the right thing for mutants. It's not  _fair._

It'd be so much easier if she just...  _trusted_  what we were doing.

I glance over at the other two. Wanda looks like she's about to cry, and I hate that. I  _hate_  it when my sister cries. But Fox just looks pissed.

Like usual. Actually, he looks like that so often that I'm starting to wonder if his face is stuck that way.

"Quicksilver, follow her," he suddenly snaps.

"What?"

"Follow my sister and find out where she's going," Fox replies. He's speaking ridiculously slow, like he thinks I'm an idiot or something.

"Why?" I don't like where this is going, not one bit. And besides- he's not the freaking boss of me.

"Have you ever noticed how often she leaves?"

"Yeah," I reply, shrugging. "She says she gets bored."

Not that I blame her, sometimes.

"Uh huh. But aren't you curious about where she goes?"

Well yeah. I'm actually  _very_  curious about where his sister goes, for reasons Fox probably wouldn't be too cool with.

But I also don't want to make her mad. Vixie is really big on privacy and stuff. Like, she gets annoyed if I go into her room without knocking first or when I read over her shoulder. Imagine how pissed she'd be if she caught me  _following_  her.

"Then you go follow her," I snap.

Fox just kinda glares at me. "I  _can't._  She'll notice," he retorts. "You're the only one who can do it without her realizing it."

I hate that I know he's right about that.

Wanda doesn't have to say anything when I look at her to get her opinion. I mean, we can have full conversations with each other without even  _talking._  She wants me to go, too. And since Wanda's about a million times smarter than I am, I usually go along with what she wants me to do.

With a sigh, I take off after Vivien.

I find her in the garage, sitting in the front seat of her car. She's leaning her head against the steering wheel like she's upset.

Holy shit. Is she  _crying?_

I've  _never_  seen Vivien cry, not even when she got shot and that building fell on her. She's too tough for that.

It's one of the reasons I like her, actually.

And no, she's not crying now. I can see that when she lifts her head. I'm moving so fast that it feels like it takes five freaking minutes for her to finally start the car.

I give her a head start, staying in what she calls "hyperspace" or whatever so she can't see me. I end up tailing her to the City, down by the docks in Hell's Kitchen. It's a crappy part of town for sure.

At that point I hide around a corner and go back to normal speed because I'm close to dying of boredom watching her in slow motion. I mean, I like looking at Vivien and everything but I've got limits, man.

She goes around to the trunk of her car and pulls out a beat up guitar case and a couple paper bags. This big smile crosses her face as she starts walking away from the car, her gaze fixated on something ahead of her.

Aw man. My stomach always gets all weird when she smiles.

See, Vivien's the kind of beautiful that sneaks up on a guy. I mean, I thought she was pretty and everything when I first saw her. Cute and spunky. Big hazel eyes, pouty red lips, these killer long legs... but it's her smile that does you in, like a ninja attack. It makes your palms sweat and your mouth go all dry, but that doesn't even matter. You don't want her to ever stop smiling. You want to do anything you can to make her smile at  _you._

And don't even get me started about her laugh, either. It's like a song and completely- what's the word? Contagious, Wanda says. Vixie's laugh makes you laugh too. You just can't help yourself, alright?

I stay about half a block back from her until she reaches this tall, nerdy-looking guy who's leaning against a light pole at the corner.

My heart sorta sinks.

The guy pulls Vivien in for a hug after she sets her stuff down, and then she gives him a kiss on the lips.

Ouch.

Ok, that hurts. That hurts  _a_ _lot_.

I'm in love with her, ok? I  _love_  her.

Because Vivien is smart, and funny, and beautiful. She's the only person besides Wanda who's ever really understood how hard it is for me, being so fast compared to everyone else. For months it's been killing me that she obviously only thinks of me like a little brother, not boyfriend material. I'd been trying to work up the guts to make a move somehow, but then all this crap with Vixie and my dad started and... yeah.

I wish they could make nice with each other somehow because they're both really important to me. I mean, it's great to have a dad around, you know? I've never had one before. And Dadneto has been in the trenches for mutant rights for a long time, so he knows what he's doing. I remind myself of that sometimes when I wonder if maybe Vixie has a point about some of the stuff we do.

And I mean come on- he's my  _dad._ I've gotta trust him.

He says that because Vivien would have serious moral qualms (that's a fun word, isn't it? Qualms. I had to ask Wanda what it means) about some parts of our missions, we shouldn't tell her. It's respecting Vivien's feelings but also making sure we finish what needs to be done. It makes sense, really.

If only she could understand that. But she doesn't, and instead she's pissed off at all of us for lying to protect her. My dad would be really mad if he found out she  _purposely_ messed up a mission, you know?

It all sucks. No matter how much I love her, over the past few months I've felt Vivien slipping away from me. It's killing me, man.

And now on top of that I find out she's with another guy?

Another guy, who right now is frowning as he looks at the bruise on her cheek from where Fox hit her. He's touching her face, the way I wanted to as soon as I saw what her brother did to her.

But I couldn't, because she's too angry to let me.

I've never felt like this before. This weird combination of angry and disappointed and sad that bounces around in my stomach and makes me want to puke. I'm tempted to race over and punch the guy in the face before he knew what hit him, but I have a bad feeling that Vivien would realize I was here if I did that.

Who is this dude, anyway?

I sneak a little closer. It's only when the guy pulls Vivien in for another hug- Jesus, why do they have to be so freaking mushy?- that I recognize him.

It's Beast.

Hank McCoy, Professor X's right hand man, in his human mask or whatever. I know he's got this special serum that makes him un-furry when he wants to be, which is pretty much always. But I recognize him from when we broke my dad out of the Pentagon.

Vivien's been lying to us all. Sneaking around with an X-Man for who-even-knows-how-long. Jeez, no wonder she's been talking about all this peace and love crap. It's  _his_  fault.

Oh great, now they're making out in broad daylight. Bold as brass, too.

Yeah, I'm bitter, alright? I just found out the girl I'm in love with is not only seeing someone else, but she's a traitor on top of everything. It's like a bad movie, or even-

Vivien breaks away from kissing the Fur Ball to look over her shoulder, but I've already disappeared by the time she turns around.

Phew. That was close.

She really  _is_  hard to sneak up on, man. I mean, how did she even  _do_  that? Some sort of feral super sense or something?

I hide in hyperspace again, waiting for a freaking eternity to see what she'll do next.

Vivien glances around suspiciously- and now Dork Face looks all anxious, how lame- and for a second I'm afraid she's spotted me somehow. But her face looks kinda uncertain after a moment, and instead of hunting me down her and Blue Butt pick up the paper bags and go into this alleyway a couple blocks away.

I only spy on the lovebirds for a bit longer, staying really far back to make sure Vivien doesn't sense me again with her freaky super paranoia power or whatever. I watch the two of them hang out with and give canned food to some homeless-looking bums. It gets boring pretty fast though. And I need to let Wanda and Fox know about Vivien's double life, anyway.

After all her talk about trust,  _this_  is what she's been doing behind our backs. I'm so mad at her, and  _hurt,_  that I'm almost looking forward to what Fox is going to do when he finds out. Probably completely lose his shit or something.

"Well?" Fox eagerly demands when I get back to base. I've been gone less than an hour, but he's looking at me like I've been MIA for days. And people say  _I'm_  impatient. "Where'd she go?"

"She went to visit these homeless people in an alley between 43rd and 44th," I explain. "To give them food and stuff. And she's got a boyfriend. He's-"

Suddenly I feel really guilty for snitching on Vivien like this, even after everything I just found out. I mean, she was helping  _homeless_  people out there. That's a pretty nice thing to do, isn't it? She's a  _good_  person, right?

A good person who's been lying to all of us for months.

But haven't we been lying to her, too? Especially lately?

God, this is all so mixed up.

One thing's for sure, though. If Fox or Dadneto finds out that Vivien's been sneaking out to see  _Beast-_

"A boyfriend?" Fox snarls. He slams his fist down on the kitchen counter, obviously pissed off.

The dude has always had  _way_  too much interest in Vivien's love life, in my opinion. I mean, a brother has a duty to protect his sister and everything but the guy takes it too far.

"Who?" he presses. "Who was it?"

If I tell him the truth he'll kill her.

I hate to admit it, but I know it's true. I saw the dude try to  _strangle_  her just because she smelled like Beast that one time. If he finds out she's actually  _dating_  the guy...

I can't do it. I can't.

As pissed as I am at Vivien, I don't want her to die. I've gotta protect her. She's the most important person in the world to me- after Wanda, I mean. And Lorna and my mom.

And my dad, too. Can't forget about him.

Whatever, she's in the Top Five, ok?

I shrug. "I don't know," I lie. "Some human, I guess."

"A human?" Fox looks like he just stepped in dog shit.

"Yup."

"I can't believe this," he mutters, tugging at his own hair with his claws. "We suspected that she's been seeing Beast because he keeps giving her these lovesick puppy dog eyes and shit whenever he looks at her."

I'm proud to say that for once in my life I keep my damn mouth shut.

"But  _this..._  this is even worse."

And then Fox goes off on this rant about his sister wasting herself on a human and blah blah blah. I tune him out after about two seconds because it's just the same crap over and over again. You don't want your sister boning a human, yeah. We get it dude.

I guess I look a little weird about the whole thing though because Wanda gives me this puzzled look. I shake my head and mouth the word "later" to her. I'll have to tell her at some point, because we don't keep secrets from each other. It's, like, in the  _rules_  for being a twin.

"So what are we going to do?" Wanda asks tentatively. It's the million dollar question.

"You two do nothing, for now," Fox growls. "I'll take care of it."

Oh, great.

Vixie's really in trouble now.


	65. Better Safe Than Sorry

**Better Safe Than Sorry**

May 7, 1975

No one says anything to me about the morning's showdown when I get back from my outing with Hank.

In fact, no one says anything to me at all.

When I step into the common area Myles takes one look at me and leaves the room, shaking his head and muttering to himself. Guess he's scared to be alone with me. In the kitchen Wanda and Peter both won't look me in the eye and seem intent on pretending that I'm not in the room, even though the tension in their posture and the way their gaze keeps flicking over to me gives them away. James straight up ignores me.

Far from hurting my feelings, I'm actually sorta glad for it. I think.

For one thing, I'm still too pissed at all of them to care if they acknowledge my existence or not. I'm perfectly content to be treated as a- what would Hank call it? A  _persona non grata?_ \- for now. If everyone's determined to ignore me they won't get in my way when I start digging.

The next night I head for the control room after everyone's turned in for the evening. I spend hours combing through the security footage, but I'm not all that surprised when I come up empty. There's a lot of missing time, meaning Magneto has been remotely turning off the system quite a bit lately. That tells me that at least part of whatever's going on is happening  _here,_  at base.

Oh my God. A security system isn't going to do much good if it's  _off_  half the time. What a fucking moron.

But I think I can use this to my advantage. By going through and logging what times are missing I might be able to see if there's any patterns of when this crap is happening, for my own future reference.

I also go ahead and add the back up system I threatened Magneto with a while back, so now he won't be able to block me anymore.

I'm regretting that I didn't do this sooner. I was blinded, I guess, by my own naivete and arrogance. I wanted to believe that love and friendship would win out over Magneto's lies, but I was wrong, wasn't I? And now I'm paying for it, scrambling to gain a handle on the whole situation.

Sad, isn't it? For all my paranoia, I still feel like I got blindsided by this shit. But can you blame me for wanting to believe my brothers would choose family over everything else?

Well, I won't make the same mistake twice.

It hurts, but I also take the precaution of packing all my stuff up- with the exception of a couple essentials- and stowing it in the secret, spare car I used to help Spyke all those months ago. I'm not really all that worried that the others will actually  _hurt_  me, but...

Alright, maybe I am.

And it's better to be safe than sorry, right?

Especially when in this case "sorry" actually might mean "dead."

* * *

May 10, 1975

The sight of my brothers trailing after Mastermind with concerned expressions on their faces as they pass me in the hall catches my attention a couple days later.

It's actually the first time I've seen Mastermind in over a week. Come to think of it, he hasn't been around much lately. Not that I've minded, really, because I hate the bastard so damn much, but his reappearance raises questions about his absence in the first place.

"Everything ok?" I call after them. They're moving along at a pretty quick clip, with obvious urgency. Mastermind actually seems sorta...  _frightened?_  How odd.

The only reply I get from the three of them is a sneer.

Well, fine then.

They can be as mysterious as they want to, but the cameras aren't going to lie. I make a mental note to take a look at my back up system later.

"Any idea why my brothers and Mastermind were acting like the building's on fire?" I ask Wanda when I spot her in the common area a few minutes later.

"No," she replies. She looks sincerely bewildered, but I don't know if I trust that. Not anymore.

I chuckle bitterly and keep on walking.

Genuine or feigned, Wanda's puzzlement irritates me. I have no interest in being patronized, and if her confusion is real it's just another indication of the lies and concealment her father is operating under. On his own kid, no less.

I tried to warn her, I  _tried._  But she still clings to Magneto...

With a sigh I head back to my room.

Later that evening I sneak into the control room and go over the security footage for the day, hoping to find out what my brothers and Mastermind were up to earlier. Unfortunately it looks like they left base and haven't come back, since.

Damn.

I'm about to turn in for the night- hanging around in the control room is just asking for trouble, trouble that I don't need- when the regular system goes dead. It's actually pretty creepy, watching the switches flip themselves.

Magneto's work, obviously.

I quickly switch over the monitors to my back up circuit so I can watch whatever's about to happen in real time.

What I see is Major William Stryker being calmly brought into the building between my brothers, with Mastermind leading and Magneto bringing up the rear. They direct the military man upstairs, to the same room they put Spyke in. I've got no audio feed, so I'm forced to study their expressions to gauge what's happening.

No one seems happy, that's for sure. My brothers are both frowning, though I guess I could write that off as distaste for having to be share space with the man who's caused our family so much unhappiness. Magneto looks absolutely livid, his jaw clenched and lips pursed with fury.

Mastermind is the one that makes me wonder, though. If he seemed frightened earlier, that fear was  _nothing_  compared to what he's clearly feeling now. He throws several anxious glances over his shoulder as the group moves through the halls, his gaze seeking Magneto. Like he feels that he needs to watch his back with the metal-bender right now.

Hmm.

The dude's always been a nervous chicken shit and a coward, but his current agitation seems to stem from something a lot bigger than that. I don't know how, but it looks like Mastermind seriously fucked up on something.

But what?

Stryker doesn't seem upset about being here, so it doesn't look like he's being held against his will or anything. I'm guessing the guard detail is more to run interference than anything else, because this is obviously a secret.

The whole situation smells funny to me.

I still have no idea  _why_  Stryker's helping the Brotherhood, considering what I know of his feelings on mutants. Did he change his mind _that much_  after our confrontation at Alkali Lake? It seems unlikely, but what other answer is there?

_Curiouser and curiouser,_  as Alice would say.

* * *

May 12, 1975

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby," I whisper into the phone.

Hank lets out a heavy exhale- of relief, I realize. "Vivien," he murmurs, "I'm glad you called. I've been really worried about you, darling."

Can't say I blame him, I suppose.

I haven't seen or spoken to him for almost an entire week, after our visit to Hell's Kitchen last Tuesday. And considering we thought for a second that someone was watching us, Hank's probably been imagining some pretty dire worst-case scenarios to explain my radio silence. The poor thing.

But it's not like I've been purposely avoiding him- I've just been busy keeping tabs on the goings-on here. Magneto and the others haven't moved Stryker since they brought him to the base, but they've also been keeping a close eye on that hallway. I haven't had an opportunity to go in and question him or anything.

Yet.

"I'm sorry, baby," I tell Hank. "I've been trying to keep a low profile because of- well, you know."

"Has anyone said anything to you at all?" he asks. "About seeing us together?"

"Nope," I reply. "And that's not exactly something I can see them keeping quiet about, you know? Especially James. So I think we're safe."

"Good," Hank says quietly. "I'd hate to think..."

He trails off, but I get his drift.

I'm half-tempted to assure him that I've prepared for a quick getaway, just in case, but decide against it. I don't want him to freak out any more than he probably already is, the big worrywart.

"Mhmm," I hum, for lack of anything else to say. Time for a different subject. Hopefully something  _other_  than my possible impending demise. "So, tomorrow? The usual place?"

"Yes. Ten o'clock or so?"

"Sounds good," I tell him. I smile at the thought, though of course he can't see me.

"Ok," Hank agrees, and I can hear him smiling too. After a short pause he murmurs, "I-I really miss you, Vivien."

His obvious sincerity tugs at my heartstrings. "Aw, Hank. I miss you too," I whisper.

And I really mean that. Just speaking to him tonight has lifted a bit of the load on me right now, a weight I wasn't aware I was carrying until it lightened.

"Until tomorrow, then," Hank murmurs.

"Tomorrow."

I sit there for a moment after we ring off, unwilling to move for fear that it'll ruin the little peaceful feeling I got from speaking to Hank. It's like a butterfly- just a breath of a movement will send it fluttering away.

So of course James and Mastermind have to fuck that up.

I'm sitting so still that I hear them coming from a long way off. After a moment's indecision I decide to hide in the pantry area in the hopes that I might overhear something useful.

And no, I'm  _not_  happy that I've stooped to purposefully eavesdropping. Frankly, I'm pissed off that I'm being forced to do this to get information, rather than- oh, I don't know- just  _asking_  my brothers about it and having them explain like in a normal fucking family.

But whatever.

I barely breathe as Mastermind and James enter the kitchen. I hear the refrigerator open, the sound of Coke bottles being cracked. I just hope to God neither of them decides that they want a late night snack or something, because then I'm  _seriously_  fucked.

"I got a couple yesterday," James says, clearly continuing a conversation.

"Give them the juice yet?"

"No, not yet."

"What are you waiting for?" Mastermind asks. He sounds genuinely surprised.

"The right moment," my brother replies. I can hear the smile in his voice. A cruel, unsettling sort of smile that creeps me out- quite an accomplishment, since I can't even  _see_ him for Christ's sake. "I'd rather do it all at once."

"So the rest...?"

"Not yet," James says, now starting to become a little irritated. "I've been going every day, watching. Nothing, yet. But I have a feeling it'll happen soon."

"I still think you should tell the boss about all of this," Mastermind mutters, his tone rather nervous.

I hear the sound of a bottle being slammed down on the counter. "No," James snaps. "I'll do this  _my_  way, you got it? It's my- my  _responsibility,_  ok?"

"If you say so," his companion mutters, though he sounds unconvinced.

"I do. So just- go along with it, alright?" my brother tells him.

"Alright." In my mind I picture Mastermind holding up his hands out of submission to James' vehemence.

A few minutes of silence, broken only by the sound of liquids being swallowed.

"Which lab did you take them to?" Mastermind finally asks.

"The one in Yonkers. It was the easiest," James explains. "I'm holding them there."

"Makes sense."

Um, no it doesn't. What the hell are they even  _talking_  about?

You have no idea  _how_  tempted I am to swing open the pantry door and pretend that I'd gotten lost in there or something. Just to watch Mastermind have a fucking stroke. And maybe rattle one of them into giving more information away, after discovering that I've been listening in this whole time.

But I don't.

Something makes me hesitate, some sort of sense of self-preservation whispering in my head that I can't rely on familial love to keep me safe anymore. It's the same instinct that compelled me to pack my stuff so I'm ready to make a run for it at all times now. I can't honestly say that my brother wouldn't really hurt me if he found out I was listening in on him right now.

_Damn,_  it hurts to admit that to myself. I feel guilty for suspecting that he would stoop that low, but not enough to make me dismiss my suspicions as paranoia. My gut's telling me to stay quiet to stay  _alive._

"Think Jackal is done yet?" James wonders aloud.

Mastermind snorts. "I highly doubt it. He's got a lot to make up for."

They both chuckle.

"Yeah, I guess you're right on that," my brother agrees. "Let's go give him a hand."

I hear them toss their empty bottles in the trash- jeez, they're not even going to  _recycle?-_  and make their exit. I wait a few minutes after that just to be absolutely sure they're gone before sneaking out of the pantry and back to my room.

There I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never comes.


	66. Into Darkness

**Into Darkness**

May 13, 1975

I rarely beat Hank to our meetings, but today I was so eager to see him that it's actually  _me_  waiting for  _him_  at our usual light pole for once.

He doesn't keep me standing there long.

Within minutes of my arrival I see him coming towards me, his hands full with paper bags. His face instantly lights up as soon as he catches sight of me, that special glow he only gets when he looks at me. My heart immediately feels about a thousand times lighter.

I giggle and close the distance between us, too impatient to wait for him to reach me. I throw my arms around him and snuggle into his chest before Hank even has time to set his bags down.

"Well, then. It certainly seems like I was missed," he comments dryly, though I can hear the smile in his voice. He frees his hands and wraps his arms around me. "Hello, Vivien."

"Hello, Hank," I reply, pulling away just enough to stand on tiptoe and kiss him. "And yes, you certainly  _were_  missed. Let's not go that long without seeing each other again, ok?"

The week that just passed was the longest we've been apart since we started going out back in- wow, it's actually been over six months now. I don't think either of us expected to make it this long without getting caught.

And yet here we are, amazingly enough.

"Agreed," Hank says, kissing my forehead.

Still smiling like an idiot, I step away and grab my own bags. Together we head over to the alleyway our friends call home.

"Hey, everyone!" I call out as we approach.

"Hey, Vivien," Marcel greets us, with a tiny little smile. "How's it going?"

Something immediately seems off about him. It's not that I expect Marcel to always greet me like I'm a big ray of sunshine or whatever, but his expression definitely lacks his usual...  _verve,_  I guess you could say. And then no sexual innuendo towards Hank? What gives?

A quick glance around points me in the right direction.

"Marcel, where's Theresa?" I ask, while Hank helps divide up the week's haul. "And Harry?"

Marcel shrugs despondently. "I dunno," he admits. "They up and disappeared the other day."

"Not a word to any of us," Betty adds.

Hank frowns. "You don't think they relapsed, do you?"

Both Theresa and Harry are recovering junkies trying to stay clean. They both have their occasional slips, but it's been a while since the last time. They're  _trying,_  you know?

"I don't want to believe it," Betty replies, her expression anguished. "But why else would they leave without saying goodbye?"

No one can deny that she has a very valid point.

The thought of our friends losing their battle for sobriety kinda hangs over all of us like a depressing fog. Even Marcel, always so upbeat and cheeky, can only manage a couple quips towards Hank.

Eventually Hank and I excuse ourselves to head elsewhere. Despite our best efforts the mood among the others is still dark. I wish I could do something to help, but I'm coming up blank on how. I can't even think of a song to lighten the atmosphere without it coming across as insincere and trite. It sucks.

After our visit Hank drives the two of us to Central Park. The weather's gorgeous, so he grabs the old blanket out of his car and spreads it out on the grass for us to lay on and enjoy the sunshine.

But even the warm, sunny day can't get me to shake this sense of foreboding and unease. Did Theresa and Harry really relapse, or did something happen to them? I honestly have no idea.

"I wonder what happened to Theresa," I mutter darkly after a few minutes of laying on our backs, staring up at the sky. "She was doing so well- I hate to think she fell off the wagon, you know?"

Hank makes a noncommittal sound. "It's discouraging, yes. But she still seemed a little... shaky to me," he replies.

I flip over onto my stomach, the better to see his face, and smile sadly. "You didn't see her before," I dryly retort.

"Fair point," Hank murmurs diplomatically. He reaches out and starts playing with my hair, letting the strands fall through his fingers.

He likes doing that, for whatever reason. When I asked him why before he sheepishly muttered some sort of nonsense about light refraction and halos. I'm guessing that's some sort of geeky way of saying he thinks my hair is pretty?

Oh, the joys of dating a super nerd.

I don't want Hank to be right about Theresa relapsing, but I guess I have to admit it's more likely true than not. After all,  _he's_  the doctor. Not me. And he's got plenty of experience with addiction, considering what he went through with Professor X.

"You know, I still can't believe your Professor was an addict," I muse after a few minutes. "He seemed so...  _serene,_  I guess, when I talked to him."

I'm trying to be diplomatic. By "serene" I mean he seemed to think he knew what was best for everyone, whether they agreed with that or not. Very calm, self-assured, and certain. Not exactly tweaker material, you know?

"I know. But I promise he was. I had a front row seat," Hank replies, his expression pained. He sighs and mutters, "I still don't understand why people do that to themselves. Being in such a terrible state of mind and purposely taking something that makes them feel worse."

"I can," I murmur quietly, thinking back to my own dark days. "The shitty things people do to themselves- it's just a way to drown out your own voice. To kill your memories without killing yourself. That's why people do it."

"You speak like you have experience."

My laugh has a bitter edge to it. "Yes, well- I wasn't always the picture of perfect mental health you see before you now," I explain sarcastically. I start picking at the grass next to the blanket, avoiding his eyes, just because I'm afraid of how he's going to react to this confession. "After my parents were killed... there was a rough couple of years, there. I wouldn't say I was an addict, not really, but I wasn't above a little experimentation in trying to kill some brain cells so I could forget how messed up my life was."

Hank's voice is so soft that I can't really tell how he's taking this revelation. "What made you stop?"

I shrug uneasily. "I'm not really sure," I reply. "I remember waking up one morning thinking, 'Mom and Dad wouldn't have wanted you to live this way. The world can suck sometimes, but... but there's beauty in it, too. I don't want to numb to that anymore, to walk through my life half-asleep.'" I roll over onto my back again with my eyes closed and raise my face towards the sunlight, murmuring, "I want life in all its stupid sticky rawness."

I glance over and smile at him, trying to gauge his reaction. The fact that he doesn't look disgusted or anything seems like a good sign, at least.

"I love you, Vivien," he whispers suddenly.

Holy shit. Did he really just say that?

He did. He really did.

He says that right after I tell him my darkest secret, my past laid bare and exposed for him to judge and condemn me for my flaws. But no, instead that's when Hank decides to tell me he loves me for the first time.

I start grinning like a complete idiot now, because I know it's  _real._

Hank loves me. He  _loves_  me.

I turn onto my side and kiss him for all I'm worth. After a moment Hank slips his hands around my hips and pulls me over so I'm straddling him. I purr and cradle his face, his beautiful, precious face, in my hands.

His eyes have turned gold when we finally break away from the kiss, gasping for air. He's giving me this fragile, optimistic look, like he's hoping I love him too.

Well, duh.

"I-"

Before I get the words out I get that feeling again, that feeling that someone's watching us. I can't explain why, but this time I  _know_  I'm not imagining it.

I glance up-

And immediately spot James, watching us from the treeline a mere fifty yards away. My brother's face twists into a sneer when my gaze meets his. He takes a step forward-

Oh God.

The only thought that really registers in that moment- besides a litany of curse words that might make a sailor blush- is that I have to keep him away from Hank. Hank going into Beast mode would pretty much be inevitable, and in the present circumstances that would cause a list of problems too long for me to even count.

I spring to my feet and take off running towards James, intending to intercept him before he gets too close. He turns tail and sprints away, deeper into the park. I follow cautiously- he's leading away from the more well-traveled areas, into the part of Central Park that doesn't get much foot traffic. Soon we're surrounded by trees and far out of sight from anyone else.

When James finally halts I come to a stop several yards away.

"You  _followed_  me?" I snap, because defensiveness  _really_  isn't my style. I'd much rather attack first. "What the fuck, James?"

"Who was  _that?"_  he snarls back. He points behind me accusingly.

"That was my boyfriend," I reply in a snippy tone. I'm determined not to give away anything else- like  _who_  exactly my boyfriend is.

My brother growls. "A human," he says disdainfully.

"Yeah," I lie. "And?"

"You can't waste yourself on a  _human,_  Vivien."

"I'm not  _wasting_  myself on anyone," I retort. "Jesus Christ. When are you going to get it through your head that it's none of your damn business who I date, James? It's  _my_ life, not yours."

"You're being selfish and you know it," he tells me. "You belong to me and Myles. I'm not going to let anyone take you from us."

Ok, we've clearly skipped some levels, here. I  _belong_  to them? I mean, we've all got some abandonment issues (thanks, childhood trauma!) but this is going way too far. Sounds like my brothers never intend to let me go live my own life some day.  _Ever._

I start to back away from James, shaking my head. I'm  _beyond_  freaked out right now, ok? And just- it's hard to believe that this is really happening, that he's actually saying this shit to me.

"You're insane," I whisper.

He ignores that. "Come with me quietly, Vivien, and no one has to get hurt," he says, his voice deadly calm. He takes a few steps forward, closing the distance I made between us.

"Don't fucking threaten me, James," I hiss angrily.

My brother chuckles. "I'm not threatening  _you,"_  he replies, grinning cruelly. He pulls a syringe full of God-knows-what out of his pocket and twirls it between his fingers like a toy. "Let me see how your boyfriend likes this, huh?"

_No._

I snarl at him. "I won't let you touch him."

But James just laughs and darts to my left, trying to make a break for it.

I fling my feet out to tangle them with his; it's actually the same move I pulled on Hank back in that Agent Orange facility over a year ago. I scissor my legs so my brother face plants into the grass and then scramble onto his back in an attempt to pry the syringe out of his hand.

Unfortunately he easily throws me off of him with a quick jerk of his shoulders. I twist in mid-air and manage to land on my feet between him and Hank's direction again, blocking his way.

James slowly regains his footing, watching me intently.

Suddenly his gaze shifts away from mine and focuses on something over my shoulder. His face splits into an insane grin, like Christmas just came early.

Oh sweet baby Jesus, no. Did Hank somehow find us-?

I glance over my shoulder, my eyes leaving him for just a split second-

And then my brother, my own flesh and blood, springs towards  _me_  with the syringe at the ready in his hand. I can't  _believe_  I fell for the ruse, goddammit.

I recover fast enough to dodge to the side and grab his wrist, again trying to wrench that damn thing out of his grasp. I punch him in the jaw with my free hand, hoping to rattle him enough that he lets go.

He staggers but hangs on. Rather than pulling away from my attempts to get the stupid syringe away from him, James grabs my arm with his other hand and then throws his shoulder into my chest, slamming me into a tree. The blow knocks all the breath out of me and leaves me dazed.

James keeps me trapped against the tree as he lifts the syringe and tries to stab me with it. His other hand is still pinning my arm, so my only defense is the death-grip I kept on his wrist.

I fight him- God knows how hard I fight him, thrashing around and spitting like a cat while I strain to keep that fucking needle away from me. I know the clear liquid inside that thing is all kinds of bad news.

But even my extreme desperation is no match against James' advantage of pure strength.

"I hate you," I hiss as the needle finally jabs into my neck.

And then the darkness takes me.


	67. Et tu, Peter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Shakespearean quote Vivien bastardizes is in reference to Act 1, Scene 2 of The Tempest.

**Et tu, Peter?**

I know I'm in trouble before I even open my eyes, like my inner Vixen is on high alert the second the sedative James stuck me with wears off.

That fucking prick. When I get my hands on him he's going to be lucky if his body parts all stay in the same goddamn zip code.

I can't _believe_ he drugged me, the bastard. But I guess there's a difference between  _thinking_  your family is capable of betraying you like that and actually seeing it in action. Nothing can really prepare you for that sort of thing.

_Never again,_ I tell myself fiercely _. Never again_.

And oh God, Hank.

What happened to him after I ran after James? Did he try to find me and run into my brother instead?

I sure as hell hope not. I'm praying he couldn't find a trace of me and went home, safe and sound. But no matter where he is, I'm sure my poor Hank is freaking out. Worrying about me, just as I'm worrying about him.

And I never even got to tell him I love him, too...

I swear, the second I see Hank again I'm going to give him a big kiss and tell him that I love him to the moon and back.

But first things first: getting myself out of this mess.

Without opening my eyes I take stock of my circumstances.

I'm currently bound to a wooden chair. I can feel zip-ties cutting into my wrists, secured behind my back, and also around my ankles. Problematic, but not inescapable. More important to know is where exactly I am.

A peek through my eyelashes doesn't give me much. The room I'm in is nondescript, with no windows and a single door. Except for my chair there's no furniture.

I'm debating on whether I should go ahead and break my restraints now when the door opens a crack.

"Let's see if Sleeping Beauty's awake yet," James' voice says in a drawl so irritating that it immediately makes my hackles raise.

"Fuck yourself, James," I snap.

The door opens wider. "I guess that's a yes," Mastermind comments dryly.

All of them file in- Mastermind, James, Myles, Peter, and Wanda. The entire Brotherhood, except for Magneto.

The omission is rather telling, in my opinion.

"Still scared to tell the boss man I'm a rebel, huh?"

The others sneer at me, but Peter and Wanda's expressions are uncomfortable. Guilty as charged, it seems.

"Alright, so what are you guys going to do with me?" I demand. "Keep me tied up? Until what? I magically change my mind about all of this somehow? I promise never to see my boyfriend again?" I bare my fangs at them. "Please, hold your breath and save us all the trouble of waiting on that."

"Still as stubborn as ever. But I guess I expected as much," James murmurs disdainfully. "Mastermind, could you please make my sister a little more... cooperative?"

The older mutant steps forward, a sickening grin on his face.

Oh shit.

I tense up, already guessing what's in store-

_Fire._

_Fire and smoke, a burning cabin in the middle of the woods. The odor of the burning flesh hanging in the air like a miasma. The lifeless bodies of my parents, their corpses still smoldering and barely recognizable._

_My entire life going up in flames, burning away the last sense of home I'll ever feel-_

The vision ends abruptly, leaving me shaken and hollow.

"Well?" James prompts.

I glare at him and clench my fists to hide the fact that my hands are trembling. I did  _not_  like that trip down Memory Lane, not one bit. "Well, what?" I retort. "You still haven't told me what you want, dumb ass."

"For you to understand what a worthless species humans are!" my brother snaps back. "For you to see what a blight humanity is on this planet, a scourge-"

I laugh bitterly, taking strength from just how ridiculous his melodramatic speech is. "I  _know_  those aren't your words, Brother Dearest. That's all Magneto. Do you even know what 'scourge' means?"

His face turns an ugly shade of puce.

_Jeez, even the_  name _for the color sounds unattractive,_  I muse to myself.

"Mastermind," James orders.

My mind is again assaulted by a flood of horrible images. A slew of humanity's evils thrown in my face, over and over again. Myles when I found him in Stryker's lab, women and children being murdered by American GI's in Vietnam, Dr. Trask dissecting mutant corpses-

_It's not real, Babineaux,_ I try to tell myself _. It's not real-_

But it  _is_  real, after a fashion. These things  _did_  happen, though they're not taking place in the here and now.

And that makes it all the harder to throw off Mastermind's illusions.

So I change tactics- instead of trying to convince myself that what I'm seeing is false, I try to focus on every good little piece of humanity I've ever seen. Marcel and the others welcoming me with open arms, that nice librarian in Vancouver making me tea, little Johnny taking his first ever steps into my arms-

I hold these thoughts close, refusing to let the hatred touch me.

The rest of the Brotherhood are all looking at me expectantly when the mental assault finally ends.

I don't know how long the attack truly lasted- to me it certainly  _felt_  like days- but the fact that Mastermind is pale and sweaty from his efforts tells me we've all been here for quite a while.

"Is that all you got?" I ask sarcastically. I'm proud of myself for not letting my voice shake as I make the bluff. "You're getting soft, Mastermind."

James leaps at me with a snarl and slaps me across the face. I yelp, but then clamp my teeth together to keep myself from making another sound. I  _refuse_  to show weakness in front of him.

Once, twice, a third time-

Peter intervenes, grabbing my brother's wrist. "Stop it!" he shouts. "Enough! That's not helping anything."

James snatches his arm out of the speedster's grip, scowling.

"Maybe you should take a walk to calm down, Fox," Wanda suggests. "Take Mastermind, he looks like he needs a break."

My brother nods slowly, his breathing labored from his exertions. He turns on his heel and starts to walk out of the room, following Mastermind.

"Yeah, James, take your temper tantrum someplace else," I call after him.

"You little-" he snarls. He turns and makes to lunge for me, but Myles catches him and shoves him back towards the door again.

"What is  _wrong_  with you?" Wanda snaps as soon as James and Mastermind are out of the room. "Stop fighting this, Vivien. You're only making it  _worse_."

I pointedly glance back at my zip-tied wrists. "What's wrong with  _me?_  You're the one sitting idly by while these fucks try to _brainwash_ me, Wanda," I hiss. "And for  _what?_ Because my brothers don't like that I have a boyfriend? That's ridiculous and you know it."

"It's more than that," she protests. I can't help noticing that she and Peter exchange a loaded look. Hmm. "You just don't get it.  _Humans_  are-"

I shake my head. "Save your breath," I tell her wearily. "You're never going to get me to go along with this human-hating bullshit. There's good and bad in everyone, Wanda. You can't lump a group all together based on the actions of a few. Otherwise, I'd say the five of you are making a damn good case for why mutant kind needs to be wiped off the fucking map. You're just too far up your dad's ass to see that."

This hurts the twins, I can tell. Well,  _good._

"You can try to say this is about me being a bad Brotherhood member all you want, but it's mostly because I dared to have a life outside of my brothers," I add. "Huh, Myles? How pissed was James when he realized I have a boyfriend?"

Up to this point Myles has been silent and fidgety. There have been a couple times where I can tell that he's been on the edge of losing his shit, but in each instance he balled his fists until his claws dug into his skin and the threatening attack passed.

I wish I could say he seemed uncomfortable with the proceedings, but it's more like he's been...  _watchful,_  I suppose. Reserving judgment, or perfectly content to be a spectator? Like this is  _entertainment?_

"We were both angry," he says now. "We don't want anyone to take you from us, Sissy. You belong with  _us,_  we can't let anyone take you-"

And he starts mumbling to himself, his expression now a little crazed.

"See?" I tell the twins. "It doesn't matter who I dated, my brothers would still be mad."

"We thought it was Beast you were seeing," Myles mutters, loud and clear enough for the rest of us to hear. "But Quicksilver said it was a human-"

_Excuse me,_ what _?_

Fuck, this is bad. This is  _very_  bad.

I immediately glance over at Peter, whose guilty expression says it all.  _"You_  followed me?" I ask in a deadly whisper, because my emotions are now  _beyond_  yelling and shouting. I'm that pissed.

"Fox asked me to," Peter explains defensively. "He wanted to know where you go, since you're barely ever here."

I shake my head and pointedly refuse to look at him.

Because I'm scared now. Scared and confused.

Peter's seen Hank in his human form before, back when they broke Magneto out of the White House two years ago. So something isn't adding up. Either Peter flat out doesn't remember meeting Hank (something I highly doubt) or he's lying to my brothers about my boyfriend being a human. And in that case, why?

His next comment confirms my suspicions.

"Beast has a drug that makes him look human," he murmurs, so quietly I'm not sure Myles, who's busy talking to himself, actually hears. The observation is directed more at me.

He knows.

Oh God, he knows about Hank. He knows I've been sneaking around with an X-Man. He knows I'm a traitor.

By some miracle I keep the panic from showing on my face.

If Peter knows, Wanda probably knows too. The twins don't keep secrets from each other, I know that much. I've often envied their relationship, how open and honest it is.

"Wanda, maybe you and Jackal should go find out what's taking Fox and Mastermind so long," the speedster suggests.

Oh goddammit. I'm not exactly in the mood to talk to Judas fucking Iscariot right now.

Wanda hesitates for a second, but then nods. "Come on, Myles," she says gently. "Let's go find your brother."

"Ok," Myles agrees. He lets her lead him from the room like a child.

Leaving Peter and I alone.

"So... you haven't gone completely Ides of March on me, huh?  _Et tu,_  Peter?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral. Right now my fate is pretty much in his hands, and I fucking  _hate_ that. All it would take is just a few words from Peter and I'm dead meat.

"No," he replies quietly.

"Why not?"

A long pause- so long that I finally look him in the eye. I've never seen him so conflicted.

"Because Vixie- Vivien. I... I lo-" Peter falters, looks down at his feet for a moment. "Because they'll kill you if they find out, Vivien."

"Yup," I agree. "And you'd just let them do it, wouldn't you?"

Silence.

"Is- is he worth it?"

I don't hesitate. "Yes," I say. "He's the best person I've ever met."

Peter winces. His mouth opens as if he's about to speak, but before he does the door opens and the others re-enter the room.

"Any luck talking sense to her?" James demands petulantly.

"Oh, look. Hell must be empty, because all the devils are here," I mutter.

My bastardization of Shakespeare makes no impression whatsoever on any of these guys. But then, they've never appreciated my literary references, anyway. No one does, except for Hank.

Mastermind snorts. "Clearly not."

"What are we going to do with her?" Myles whispers, his brow furrowed. "The boss says we gotta-"

"Shut up, Jackal," James snaps. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, thinking. Then he gets right in my face, close enough that I could count the freckles on his forehead if I wanted. "Alright, you listen up. You're not going to leave this room until you've come to your fucking senses, do you understand?"

"I think better when my hands aren't tied up."

He bares his fangs at me. "Then I guess you're gonna be here a while," he says spitefully. And to be even more of a little bitch-ass he knocks my chair over, so I'm kinda awkwardly hanging sideways on the stupid thing by the zip-ties.

"You're such an asshole," I snarl, struggling uselessly.

"Come on, guys," James tells the others. They all start to file out behind him without a word, though Peter gives me a pained look on his way out.

Wanda is the last one to leave. She casts a worried glance over her shoulder before hurrying over and righting my chair, so I'm sitting in it properly. I guess I looked pretty damn pitiful, there.

"We'll be gone for a few hours," she whispers. "Vivien-  _please,_  think it over. Don't get yourself killed over this. Nothing's worth that."

She looks so desperate that I mumble, "I will."

But I don't mean it.

The second the door closes behind her I breathe a sigh of relief.

Time to get the fuck out of here.


	68. Houdini's Got Nothing on Me

**Houdini's Got Nothing on Me**

I wait for at least an hour after the others exit the room before acting, just in case. But once I'm sure they're gone I get down to the business of getting myself off of this goddamn chair and out of this stupid room.

They made a huge mistake when they tied me up with my boots still on.  _Huge._

For one thing, the thick leather covering my legs gives me enough clearance to slide out of my shoes with some wiggling. Thank God for skinny ankles, right?

Once my lower limbs are free I regain my footing enough to stand in this awkward, half-bent over position that I hope to Jesus I never have to be in again. It's just so damn embarrassing, like I'm a confused turtle carrying a chair instead of her house on her back.

Ignoring my pride for a moment, I jump as high as I can and angle myself in mid-air so the chair breaks into several pieces on impact. Of course doing that means landing flat on my back on top of a pile of wood, complete with little splinter confetti.  _Ouch._

This clearly will not be my most  _elegant_  escape attempt, that's for sure.

But anyway, once my hands aren't hooked around the chair anymore it's easy to maneuver my legs through my arms, bringing my hands back in front of me. A sweeping, downward motion towards my torso snaps the zip-ties around my wrists, leaving all of my limbs free.

The other reason why leaving my boots on was a bad idea: I keep all sorts of stuff in them, a habit that Hanks says is endearing. There's guitar picks, a spare knife, emergency cash, and more importantly right now, bobby pins.

I use the pins to pick the lock on the door in less than a minute.

"Ta-da," I whisper as I let myself out. "Harry Houdini's got nothing on me."

I lock the door behind me because I want my brother to be  _unpleasantly_  surprised when he gets back, the bastard. A quick look around helps me orientate myself- I'm still in the Brotherhood base, near the room where they've been keeping Stryker.

It's tempting-  _so_  tempting- to go have a chat with him, but I have a feeling Magneto's lurking around and I don't want him asking questions on why I'm not with the others on whatever mission they're doing tonight.

So instead I sneak back to my room to grab the last few things I haven't packed yet.

See, _Babineaux? Look at all the time you saved yourself by being so prepared. And you call_  Hank _a boy scout,_  I tell myself sarcastically.

I'm trying to cheer myself up but let's be honest- the fact that it was necessary to be ready to take off, that I'm  _running away_  from my own fucking family, is pretty damn depressing no matter how you look at it.

After a moment's thought I take the gifts my brothers and the twins gave me for my birthday- the scarf Myles got me, the compact from Wanda and the records from Peter and James- and leave them on my bed in plain sight.

I'll be long gone by the time it's noticed, this symbol of me officially washing my hands of all of them.

I don't linger after that.

Not just because I feel a sense of urgency to get the hell out of here before anyone notices, but also because I have no sense of attachment to this place. Absolutely none. I lived here for over a year and a half- the longest I've stayed  _anywhere_  since my parents died- and it still never felt like home.

Too many bad memories, I guess, and not enough good ones. This is just the place where my family fell apart, nothing more.

When I walk out the door I don't look back.

* * *

May 14, 1975

My first move, after I drive my spare Honda that I've always kept hidden outside the base into the City, is to leave it and borrow a truck.

Ok, ok- it's actually more like  _stealing_  a truck. But I fully intend to give it back, so really it's just borrowing without permission, right?

In my defense, it's kinda necessary. I'm going to need the space for all the crap in my safe house.

After some consideration I've decided the location is compromised because I don't know if Peter or James saw me go in it. That means I've got a limited window of time to move before they possibly come to find me.

This place I actually  _do_  feel a little sad about leaving. It wasn't a  _home,_  exactly, but I can honestly say that some of the happiest hours of my life were spent in this tiny apartment, with Hank. It has sentimental value for that reason.

Alright, enough with the nostalgia. Time to get down to business.

It takes a surprisingly short amount of time to get everything, even by myself. I can't take credit for being super efficient or anything, though. The truth is, I really just don't have that much stuff. Being on the run pretty much constantly, not really having a home, means traveling light is basically a necessity.

Ok, maybe I'm just feeling sorry for myself now.

The hardest things to move are my mattress and the piano Hank got me, but with some careful maneuvering I manage to get them both into the truck bed. I'm  _motivated,_ man.

By the time I finish loading up it's about three o'clock in the morning, meaning my options are kinda limited on what I can do next. I end up driving into New Jersey and parking at a random truck stop along the interstate. No one will bother me here.

At this point I'm exhausted, both physically and mentally. It's a weariness and a sadness that settles deep in my chest and makes it hard to breathe.

I refuse to let myself cry, though. Not for them.

After what they did to me, the Brotherhood isn't worth my tears.

Instead I settle down in the truck's cab with the intention of getting some shut-eye. For a little while, anyway. I've got a lot of things to do- including phoning Hank and letting him know I'm not dead- but right now I'm so drained I don't have the energy for anything else.

I've had a rough day, dammit. Cut me some slack.

I wake up a solid eight hours later feeling like I didn't sleep a wink. All that shit Mastermind put in my head came back to haunt me in my dreams, and it's not like my brain had any shortage of nightmare fuel to begin with.

Fun times, I'm telling you.

I grab some donuts from the gas station and debate on whether to call Hank or not because I slept so much longer than I intended. I decide against that when I see what time it is. He's going to be down in his lab right now, not in his room. And I don't care what he says about it being safe to leave messages on his personal line, I've just never felt comfortable doing it.

And considering how all my paranoia lately has all turned out to be  _reality..._  I ain't risking that shit.

To be honest, speaking to Hank on the phone doesn't feel like enough right now anyway. I'm going to sound like such a wussy, but what I really need is for him to hold me in his arms and come up with a bright idea of what to do about the Brotherhood now, because I've got nothing.

_Worry about that later,_ I tell myself firmly _. Focus on what's right in front of you._

Right.

Concentrating on the immediate future is pretty much all I can do right now. Kinda difficult to make any sort of plans when your whole damn life just imploded, right?

Am I bitter? A little bit, yeah.

I decide to establish my new safe house in Chelsea because of the cheap rent. I pick a tenement building at random and slip the clerk fifty bucks to skip the background check and let me move in immediately.

"You want to do a tour or anything?" the guy asks incredulously.

"No, sir," I reply, chuckling. I mean, it's a studio apartment. Take three steps and the tour's already over. "Not much to see, is it? And besides, as long as it's got four walls and a ceiling I'm good."

He nods, but hesitates before he goes. "Are you in some kind of trouble, honey?"

_Dude. You have_  no _idea._

"Just some family problems," I explain. "I think we all need some space."

His expression softens. "You need some help moving your stuff in?" he offers.

"Aw, that would be  _wonderful,"_  I tell him honestly, smiling sweetly and patting his arm.

Bless his heart, he actually blushes. "It's the least I could do," he mumbles.

See, this is how I know the Brotherhood is wrong. This guy has no obligation to help me out- I just paid to skip the background check and stuff. But he's doing it anyway.

As long as human kindness like this exists, it deserves to be protected.

* * *

After all my stuff is in the new apartment and I shower I head out once again.

This time my destination is the police station that's closest to where I left my Honda. I leave my  _borrowed_  vehicle right across the street with the keys in the ignition and some money for gas on the seat.

See? I  _told_  you I'd give it back.

And now I finally allow myself to go where I've been yearning to be all fucking day: Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters. I'm aware that it's not all that wise to go there. I get it, I really do. But I need to see my Hank and I've waited long enough, dammit.

It's well past dark by the time I ditch my car and arrive at the school's gates. I wait until a decent amount of lights are off inside before I make my move.

_Alright, baby, show me what you got_ , I think to myself as I take a look at the gate's keypad. I know Hank installed this stuff so I'm kinda intrigued to see how hard it is to break in.

It's more difficult than any other code I've ever tried to crack, but I manage it. Eventually.

Seriously, don't ask me how long it took. It's kinda embarrassing.

The stupid gate code is the hard part, though. Everything else is a breeze.

I walk right in the front door of the mansion like I own the joint and sneak up the stairs to sniff out Hank's room. His scent is so burned into my brain that I just need a hint of it to track him down.

Damn, just his  _smell_  makes my knees get all weak.

I open the door just a crack- I don't want to bust in on him doing anything weird- but there's no sign of him. The sound of running water echoes inside the room though, so I guess he's in the attached bathroom. I let myself in and take a look around.

Hank's got a pretty sweet set up in here, damn.

There's a little sitting area directly to my left, complete with a working fireplace, coffee table, and a dark red love seat. It takes me a second to realize that the walls of the room are an off-white color because there are so many bookcases lined along them, like Hank has his own damn library in here.

God I love that man.

The furniture is all antique mahogany, including the huge bed set between two windows on the wall opposite from me. The rust-colored comforter (ugh, the color palette of this decade makes me want to gag) is unmade, giving the impression that Hank just hopped out of bed.

I can't help it- I run over and dive in, chuckling quietly to myself as I snuggle into the big pile of pillows he has on here. I don't give a shit if Hank walks out and finds me like this. The dude sniffs my hair all the time, for crying out loud. I'd like to think that makes us even on the weirdness, you know?

_"These violent delights have violent ends,"_  I hear Hank murmur in the bathroom.

He sounds so forlorn that it sobers me right up.

Yeah, that  _Romeo and Juliet_  quote pretty much sums up our circumstances, doesn't it? Our love burns so bright it kinda blotted out our common sense, and now look where we are. Not exactly a violent end, but still a pretty shitty situation for a pair of star-crossed lovers to find themselves in.

My poor Hank. I can only imagine how much he's been worrying about me today.

I sit upright and start picking with a loose thread on the ugly comforter, brooding about everything. Are we going to end up like Romeo and Juliet? God, I hope not.

I'm so lost in thought that I don't notice Hank standing in the doorway until he speaks.

"V-vivien," he sputters, dropping his shirt. His big blue eyes are round with surprise behind his glasses as he stands there in just his pants.

Oops. I mean, I'm certainly enjoying the view and everything, but I guess I  _did_  drop in here without warning the guy. Maybe I should've knocked?

_Oh well. I guess there's always the_  next _time I sneak in here._

I smile wryly and rise to my feet. "Hi, Hank."


	69. What Are You Waiting For?

**What Are You Waiting For?**

I can't contain myself anymore- I immediately rush into his arms.

Hank meets me halfway, pulling me in for a hug and tenderly kissing all of the bruises on my face. "Are you ok?" he asks quickly. "You're ok, aren't you? My stars and garters, Vivien-"

"I'm fine, baby, I'm fine," I assure him, pulling him in for a deeper kiss. I let the relief wash over me, the comfort of being in his embrace again. It honestly feels like I  _belong_ here in his arms.

When I pull away I notice the marks on his chest, these raised red welts that look painful, but healing. I trace my fingers along the wounds and realize what they are: scratch marks. But from who?

"Are  _you_  ok? What happened to you?"

Hank winces. "Your brothers happened," he replies laconically. "Vivien, they know about us."

Old news, buddy.

"Yeah, they know I've been seeing a human-"

"No, darling, they know about  _us._  Beast and Vixen seeing each other," he tells me. "Last night Fox and Jackal cornered me and tried to goad me into a fight. They told me you've been sneaking around with a dorky-looking human, so I'd have to find some other girl to drool over."

I give him a puzzled look.

He brushes his hand across my cheek. "The way I look at you," he explains quietly. "Apparently I'm not as adept at hiding my feelings as I thought. Anyway, when I didn't react with jealousy it confused them. And then Fox said something about you not sneaking around with anyone from now on and it seemed to imply that he'd done something to you, something horrible. It frightened me so much I lost my composure for a moment. Jackal was able to put two and two together- he said Quicksilver mentioned my serum, how I can look human if I choose. I had to fight both of them to get out of there. But they know about us now, darling."

Well shit.

Now they're going to be even  _more_  pissed. So pissed they'll probably go straight to Magneto and finally spill the beans about my long list of traitorous activities. Great, just great.

"Fuck," I mutter, leaning my forehead against Hank's chest. "This has fallen apart  _really,_  really fast."

I mean really. Yesterday afternoon we were hanging out in the park, happy as clams. Now look at me. I've got a death sentence on my head, several times over.

"It has indeed," Hank agrees, with a pained expression. He gently lifts my chin and frowns as he examines the bruises on my face. "What happened to you, Vivien? I've been worried sick."

"Yesterday I caught a glimpse of James watching us in the park," I explain. "And I took off after him, wanting to get him away from you. We fought, but he stuck me with something and knocked me out."

Hank frowns. "Does he usually carry a sedative?"

"No, that's definitely new," I reply. Probably a new toy courtesy of Stryker, I'm guessing. "Anyway, I woke up back at base, locked up. And they had Mastermind work on me for a bit..."

An involuntary shiver passes over me, just thinking about what that sick bastard made me see.

Hank holds me tighter. It's soothing enough that I manage to find a rather grim-looking smile for him. "It'll take more than that asshole to break me," I assure him. But then I admit, "the worst part was Wanda and Peter telling me to stop fighting it. No one wanted to tell Magneto what's been going on, what I've been doing and saying, because they're afraid of what he'll do to me. But not even  _they_  were on my side, not really. Still, I promised them I would think about it while they were gone on whatever mission they had last night. I don't think they expected me to be able to get out of that room, but I did. I escaped, grabbed my stuff, and cleared out of base before they came back. I've been laying low all day, waiting to come talk to you."

"How'd you get past the security system?" Hank asks curiously.

I grin at him. "You know I have a talent for getting into places I shouldn't be, Hank. Just leave it at that."

He sighs, but seems to decide to shelf the issue for now without protest. We've got more important shit to worry about. "What will you do now, Vivien? Your brothers know you've been sneaking around with an X-Man. If they haven't told Erik already they probably will soon."

"I'm not really sure," I admit. I hate how weak my voice sounds. "I mean, I think it's safe to say I'm officially not part of the Brotherhood anymore, but..."

"Are you thinking about running away?"

I must confess, I allow myself to entertain the idea for a second. Just taking off for parts unknown and leaving all this crap behind.

But could I leave Hank? Am I strong enough to do that, to break up with him for his own good? Or would he insist on coming with me?

I certainly couldn't  _ask_  it of him. I could never ask him to abandon his whole life for me. This place is his  _home,_  and he's got his mission here at Xavier's to think about. The X-Men might take him for granted, but they need him more than they know.

But more than the conundrum I'd face with Hank if I tried to take off is the fact that I'm simply not the kind of person who runs away from problems. It's just not who I am, not anymore. If I left now I'd have to deal with the guilt of  _letting_  Magneto win. I can't let him get away with this. Not without a fight.

"I'm not running away," I say firmly, shaking my head. "I can't just walk away from this, knowing Magneto is planning something big. I guess I'll hang around the area, try to piece together what I can." I smile at him sadly. "But if I  _did_  take off- would you come with me if I asked?"

It's a selfish question, I know. But I can't really help myself.

Hank nods without hesitation.

"You'd leave all of this behind?" I ask incredulously. "Your friends, your lab? Your  _home?"_

"In a heartbeat."

I close my eyes, letting that sink in.

He would really leave everything behind for  _me._

This man truly loves me, and what have I given him in return? Less than half the relationship he wanted and fully deserves, forcing him to lie to his closest friends, and now a possible death sentence. My brothers will be gunning for him now more than ever, and it's all my fault.

I suddenly have the urge to cry, and the fucked up part is I'm not even really sure  _why._  Too many emotions swirling around inside me, I guess. Joy that he cares so much, guilt for what I've done to him, fear of what's coming next- I feel it all. "God, I don't deserve you," I mutter. "I've brought you nothing but misery, and still-"

"No, you haven't, Vivien," Hank retorts. "I've never felt so happy in my life as when I'm spending time with you. To be honest, just  _thinking_  about you makes me smile like a complete buffoon."

That startles me into a laugh.

"What we have isn't easy, darling," he tells me. "But it's been worth it. To me, anyway."

I smile shyly and pull his face down to mine for a soft kiss. "Trust me, you're worth it," I whisper. "I love you, Hank."

The effect of my words on him is immediate. Hank closes his eyes and reaches up to grip my wrists gently. "Say that again," he breathes.

"I love you, Hank," I repeat, smiling at his apparent disbelief. He opens his eyes again. "Jesus, Hank, how could I  _not?_  I love everything about you. I love that intense look on your face when you're explaining some theory I'll never understand. But I listen anyway, because I love the sound of your voice and how you're too cute for words when you talk about science and junk."

He ducks his head and grins bashfully, a blush reddening his cheeks. He's so cute it makes me blurt out all this mushy crap I should  _really_  keep to myself.

"I love how it feels when you hold me, and the butterflies I get when you smile. I had _no_ idea how much you would end up meaning to me when I first saw you, but now... You're my everything, Hank. And I love you for exactly who you are, and- and who  _I_  am when I'm with you."

Christ, how embarrassing.

I mean, it's all true and everything but still. Someone needs to give me an insulin shot for how sappy I'm getting.

"I love you too, Vivien," Hank says. His whole face is practically  _glowing,_  he's so happy right now. "More than words can say."

I smile and bring him in for another kiss, so elated I feel like I could burn up in a fiery cloud and float away right now. He presses me even closer, as if he wants to burn right along with me and let our passion consume us both.

For months now we've sorta danced around going any further in our relationship, physically speaking. And believe me when I say the self-denial has gotten  _really_  fucking frustrating. In all this time we haven't gone beyond "third base," and while it's been wonderful to have that sort of intimacy with Hank- in some ways, an even  _closer_  intimacy than going all the way- I want more.

But every time things got close to escalating further, one or both of us would end up putting on the brakes. We've both worried about Hank losing control of his instincts in the heat of the moment and marking me, though we've never actually given voice to the concerns out loud.

And if he claimed me as his mate... it would cut me off from my brothers, forever. I knew even before all of this that they'd never let the issue lie, never let us live in peace. It was too big a risk to take.

Well tonight I don't give a shit anymore.

Hank  _loves_  me, he really loves me. And I love him, and  _want_  him with all my heart, body and soul. Right now I don't care about anything except living in this moment with him, consequences be damned.

When I take a tentative step backwards, towards the bed, Hank follows eagerly and makes this little hopeful sound against my lips.

_Oh, yes. This is finally happening._  Finally.

I grin against his mouth as I trail my fingers down his chest to undo his pants, feeling his big, warm hands start to fumble with the hem of my dress. I help him take it off, and then my bra as well when the clasp gives him problems.

Call me crazy, but I find his awkwardness to be really endearing.

Hank remains standing when I finally fall back against the mattress, staring at me so avidly that he almost falls on his face while trying to take off his shoes. Next come his pants and glasses- and still, he hasn't stopped looking at me, awestruck.

It makes me think of that day I told him "beauty is in the eye of the beholder." I mean, I'm well aware that my body is nothing special. I've got basically no boobs, for one, I'm too skinny, and I'm also ridiculously pale.

But Hank's looking at me like I'm a new incarnation of Venus or something. Or maybe like someone smacked him in the head with a two-by-four.

The thought makes me grin wryly. He's making me feel beautiful in this moment, a moment when all my physical imperfections are on display.

Now if only he would  _blink_  it would be fantastic.

"You're even more beautiful than I imagined," he blurts out suddenly.

I giggle. Because the idea of Dr. Hank McCoy, uptight nerd extraordinaire, having naughty thoughts about me is both hilarious and oddly sweet. "And exactly how often have you pictured me naked?" I tease, provocatively arching my back.

He flushes.

"Oh, Hank," I scold. I shift on the bed so I'm on my knees in front of him and then wrap my hands around his neck to pull him in for a gentle kiss. Dear Lord, the feeling of his bare chest against mine makes my skin feel like it's on fire. Hank commits a crime on the daily by hiding his sexy self under such dorky clothes, I swear. "I've thought about you like that, too."

"Yeah?"

Duh. Does he not own a mirror?

"Mhmm," I murmur, rubbing my nose against his affectionately.

My clueless genius has no idea how breathtakingly attractive he is, no matter what form he takes. But I suppose that's part of his charm. God, I want him so bad it  _hurts._

I skim my claws through his hair, down his back as I tell him, "I think both of us have wanted this for a long time."

"I know I have," Hank admits, his hands tightening on my waist.

I can feel him trembling- from nerves, or anticipation? I suspect it's the latter, because his eyes now shift to gold and there are flashes of blue playing across his face.

Oh yes, he wants me. Right here, right now.

"Then what are you waiting for?" I whisper into his ear.

Hank lets out a low growl.

And just like that, the Beast is unleashed.


	70. This Is Forever (Rated M to be safe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M, just to be safe. Nothing too explicit, but the beginning is definitely rather citrusy in flavor.

**This Is Forever**

Hank's hands on my waist turn blue and clawed, the muscles of his chest suddenly becoming like iron beneath the coat of soft fur. The way it tickles pleasantly against my bare skin is something that I  _definitely_  wouldn't mind getting used to.

And then we're falling back into bed and he's kissing me everywhere, exploring with his lips where only his hands have been before. Every little kiss is a spark on my skin that just feeds the fire between us.

Once we're both completely naked Hank takes his time, almost like he's trying to commit every inch of me to memory. I know I'm certainly doing the same- his musky, masculine scent, his taste, and the play of his muscles under my hands. The pessimist in me is whispering that this might be our only night together, and neither of us is letting it go to waste.

"I love you, Vivien," he murmurs against my neck, and then his lips travel south-  _very_  south.

Oh my God.

I'm vaguely aware of Hank smiling against my skin as I shiver and clutch at his hair, but mostly I'm just lost in the pleasure of what he's doing to me. He's tentative at first, but more confident as I respond.

Calling this man "eager to please" would be an understatement, damn. Maybe he's making up for lost time? I mean, Hank's never said it out loud but I know he's never done this before.

Dear Lord, I can only imagine how good at this he'll be with more practice.

I don't want to have  _all_  the fun, though. "Hank, please," I whisper eventually, tugging at his shoulders to get his attention. He obliges me without complaint.

When I finally wrap my legs around his hips I can't help thinking of how perfectly our bodies fit together. Like he was  _made_  for me, and I for him.

Who knows, maybe that's the truth? Maybe Hank has been my destiny, my fate all along. Maybe we were  _meant_  to find each other and fall in love, our passion written in the stars.

_Ugh,_  he turns me into such a sap, doesn't he? Or maybe I've always been a closeted hopeless romantic and just didn't know it. He just makes me feel some sort of way like that.

"Oh my stars and garters," Hank half-moans, half-whispers against my neck as the moment finally happens. "Vivien-"

I have to smother a giggle, because that honestly has to be the cutest reaction a guy has ever had, alright? I'm pretty sure he's already ruined other men for me forever.

"Oh, Hank," I murmur, lacing my claws in his hair and nuzzling him. "I love you."

Now let me just say this- I've had sex plenty of times before. I'm ashamed to admit that I can't even remember the majority of those past encounters, thanks to being drunk or high at the time. But I doubt any of them would've made much of an impression on me, anyway. Not like this.

Because  _this..._  every second of this has an achingly beautiful, clear quality to it. I savor every moment with Hank and I want to just- to burn the sensations into my mind forever if I can. It goes  _beyond_  mere carnal pleasure (though trust me, there's  _plenty_  of that). It's an act of the emotion itself, a physical expression of how deeply we feel about each other.

As cheesy as it sounds, this- this is the first time someone has ever  _made love_  to me. Every move Hank makes is an expression of pure adoration, like he's worshiping my body with his. It's an experience I'll never forget.

"Do you like this?" he asks.

Several times, actually. I didn't expect him to be one for dirty talk so it kinda surprises me.

But then I realize he's seeking reassurance that he's doing this right for me. He wants to please me so badly, to make sure I enjoy myself too. As if digging my claws into his back and moaning in pleasure wasn't enough of a clue that I'm liking it? Oh, my Hank.

I chuckle. "For the thousandth time, baby,  _yes,"_  I reply exasperatedly, taking note of the earnest, vulnerable look in his big sunset eyes. "So whatever you do,  _please_  don't stop."

He's a lot more confident after that. After he stops questioning himself so much I think he realizes that he already  _knows_  what to do, as long as he stays out of his own way and doesn't over-think it.

My God, being with him like this feels so  _right._  Natural, like breathing.

And I suppose in a way it is, with us being the instinctual creatures that we are. There's been a primal, magnetic attraction between our inner ferals since almost the very first time we met. Hank and Vivien, Beast and Vixen- both our instinctive and more conscious selves have truly found their match in one another.

Giving in goes beyond just relief. It's ecstasy.

The finish line comes for us almost simultaneously, with first me, and then Hank falling over the edge. The waves of euphoria are still washing over me when he buries his face against my neck, his body shuddering against mine. His lips on my skin send another round of aftershocks through me, stretching out the blissful sensation even further.

"You're incredible," I whisper against his ear when the high finally ends. We're both panting from the exertion.

Hank lets out this little huff of laughter and pulls away enough that I can see his face. He looks quite pleased with himself- and maybe even a little relieved. "I love you," he says fervently.

"I love you, too."

His smile lights up his whole face. Like seriously, it brings a whole new level to the expression "after glow."

By unspoken agreement we then rearrange ourselves to cuddle up in bed, floating together in this state of blissful contentment. I know there's a lot of crap to worry about still, but the sound of Hank breathing and the warm, solid weight of his body next to mine makes me feel at peace. Even if it's just temporary.

God, with Hank's arms around me I can almost believe that everything will turn out ok.

* * *

May 15, 1975

Consciousness finds me slowly the next morning- a rarity, obviously, since I normally wake up with a bang. I guess I know deep down that I'm safe before I even come-to. Safe with Hank.

He's sleeping practically draped across my back right now, holding my left hand with his and gently gripping my ankle with his hand-foot while his face is buried in my hair. After a moment he takes a deep inhale and lets out a little sigh of contentment.

Christ, he even likes sniffing me when he's asleep. What a sweet little weirdo.

I smile, but don't open my eyes. I don't want to let go of this feeling- this relaxed,  _happy_  feeling of peace and comfort. Of belonging, I guess. It actually feels like...  _home._

Home.

After all these years of searching I almost forgot what it felt like, but here it is. That feeling of safety and calm, of unconditional love. It seems almost alien to me because it's been so long.

But now I feel like I'm finally  _home,_  here in Hank's arms. Maybe that's why I haven't been able to find it in all this time. I was looking for a  _place_  to call home, but for me I guess it's a  _person._

Just then I sense Hank stirring, so I think he's waking up.

Sure enough, a moment later I feel him press a kiss to my shoulder. "Good morning," he murmurs, voice all husky from sleep. God, he's sexy.

"Mmm." I turn over, keeping our hands entwined and smile as I look at him. "'Morning."

Oh, he's practically edible right now.

Hair all tousled, sunset eyes warm enough to melt me into a puddle, and with this tentative grin on his face that quickly becomes bashful. His cheeks start to turn purple as his gaze kinda flickers down between us. We're still naked from last night.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks awkwardly, brushing a claw through my bangs.

Oh my God. Last night he was a marvel of sensuality, and now in the light of day he's back to his self-conscious self. Is he seriously going to be all polite and formal  _right now_ , when we're buck naked in his bed? Jesus Christ.

I roll my eyes and laugh. "I slept fine, Hank," I assure him. I reach up and cup his face between my hands. "Are you really going to get all shy on me now?"

He shrugs, casting his eyes down. His face kinda resembles an eggplant right now.

"You are  _such_  a dork sometimes, I swear," I blurt out, laughing.

_And so help me, I wouldn't have him any other way,_  I think as I kiss him and rest my forehead against his.

"I love you," he whispers.

I smile, because he took the words right out of my mouth. "I love you."

Our next kiss quickly escalates into something more, like embers flaring back to life at the slightest prompting. Our hands begin to wander, and then Hank's mouth, too, begins to explore again. He kisses a trail up my neck-

The feeling of his lips on the skin right below my ear sends a jolt through my entire body, like an electric shock.

What the  _fuck_  is that about?

My gasp of surprise makes Hank pull back, and then his gaze immediately focuses on something on my neck. His expression goes from unsure to... I don't know. A little scared? Excited? Happy? It's hard to tell.

Oh God. Oh  _shit._  Is it-? Did he-?

I touch my neck and feel the bite mark there. When I felt his lips on my neck last night- that was him  _marking_  me. Claiming me as his mate.  _Forever._

This can't be happening. It  _can't._

"You  _marked_  me?" I snarl.

Hank scoots away, wincing. "It appears so," he replies weakly.

"Jesus. We have sex  _one time_  and- and you didn't even  _ask,_  dammit," I hiss. I sit up, face in hands. "Oh my God."

I'm  _beyond_  pissed right now.

Ferals mate for life. Me and Hank,  _we're_  mated for  _life._  Call me crazy, but creating a lifetime bond is a commitment you should fucking  _talk_  about before you do it, don't you think? This isn't some stupid piece of paperwork that can be shredded and erased. This is  _forever._

"I'm sorry, Vivien," Hank murmurs, stroking my back gently. "I forgot myself for a moment, and-"

I snort bitterly. "Did you?"

He pulls his hand away. "What are you implying?" he asks. He sounds hurt, but right now I don't care.

I glare at him. "This is what you wanted, right?" I snap, climbing out of bed and slipping back into my bra and panties. "To cut me off from my brothers for good? Looks like I don't have a choice now, do I? They'll never listen to me again."

There's no going back now. One whiff of my scent and my brothers will completely lose their shit. They won't stay calm enough for me to talk to them anymore.

And oh Jesus, what will they do to Hank? What will they do to him because of  _me?_  I hate to admit it, but I'm  _scared._

Hank's expression turns angry. "You caught me," he agrees, voice dripping with sarcasm. He rises and puts on his boxers, stomping over to stand a few feet away from me. "All this time, I've been secretly plotting to  _force_  you to leave your brothers. That's why I've been lying to my friends and sneaking out to see you for months. I had some sort of dastardly plan to lure you away from the relatives that abuse and belittle you and  _literally_  just tried to have you brain washed. _Not_ because I love you and was willing to accept any sort of relationship you could give me, as long as I could be with you in some way."

Well when he says it like that it sounds stupid.

He glowers at me for a moment, and I scowl right back. Where the fuck does he get off, acting mad?  _He's_  the one who claimed me without asking, damn.

Suddenly he sighs, his anger softening. "Vivien, I'm truly sorry for losing control like that. I never wanted to destroy your relationship with your brothers- even if I can't fathom  _why_  you'd still want one after what they did to you the other night," he says. "Or the way they've treated you in the past. I don't think you understand what a trial it's been not to rip Fox's throat out every time he hits you."

Ok, he might have a point on that one. Maybe I'm clinging to habit, to a sense of misplaced familial loyalty. I didn't want to give up on my brothers, but after what they did to me last night...

What choice do I have?

I'm struck with this mental image of me floating in a stormy ocean, reaching out to save my floundering brothers. But instead of me pulling them to the surface, they drag me down into the water. And all three of us drown.

Maybe... maybe that's a fitting metaphor for my entire life up until this point. I've been trying to save James and Myles, but all I've really managed to do is hurt myself.

After all this time, I think I finally have to admit defeat and let them go.


	71. What's Done Is Done

**What's Done Is Done**

Hank's expression becomes penitent. "And I'm sorry that we didn't talk this over beforehand," he tells me. "But I'm  _not_  sorry that I'm your mate now. Because I love you, and I've known for a while that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And when you realize something like that, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Dear Lord, what can I even  _say_  to that sort of blind romanticism? Doesn't he understand the big reason I'm pissed off about this- besides the whole  _not-asking_  me part, I mean? It's not about me. It's about  _him._

"The rest of our lives," I whisper. "Hank- I'm kinda an endangered species right now. If- if we're just two idiots in love and the Brotherhood knocks me off, it'll hurt for a while, but one day you'll get over me. But if we're mates and I don't make it..."

Hank will never recover from that.

And I'm not being conceited or anything, either. Feral males don't survive long after they lose their mates. They literally die from loneliness and broken hearts, which is such a soft, wussy way to go a lot of males refuse to claim a mate in the first place just to avoid that possibility.

From now on, if  _I_  die, Hank dies. The Brotherhood's blows count twice in that sense.

But actually... The more I think about it, the more my gut tells me they won't come after me like that. I think it's far more likely that Magneto and James will try to take Hank out to punish me for betraying them. Death is quick and final, after all. Losing Hank would be a prolonged, inescapable agony.  _That's_  much more their style.

Just the thought of that makes it feel like someone punched a hole through my chest. "Or if they killed you to get to me, if you  _died_  because of me-" I have to stop talking because I suddenly can't breathe. "I-"

_No tears, Babineaux,_  I tell myself sternly.  _Crying won't help anything._

I quickly turn around to compose myself.

Jesus Christ, I would never forgive myself if that happened. I could never live with myself, knowing this kind, intelligent man died because of  _me._

Hank suddenly steps closer and wraps his arms around me from behind. He holds me close and whispers:

_"Amen, amen. But come what sorrow can,_  
_It cannot countervail the exchange of joy_  
_That one short minute gives me in her sight._  
_Do thou but close our hands with holy words,_  
_Then love-devouring death do what he dare;_  
_It is enough that I may but call her mine."_

It's Romeo's speech to Friar Lawrence as he tries to convince the guy to perform the marriage ceremony between him and Juliet. Hank does Shakespeare better than a fucking movie star, I swear.

He kisses the mark on my neck, and my knees almost buckle from the jolt of electricity that runs through me.

"I thought you didn't like  _Romeo and Juliet_?" I murmur shakily. I think I'm kinda liking the Hank-style seduction here, damn.

"I don't," he replies, "but it seems rather apropos to the situation at hand. I won't give up hope that somehow this will all work itself out. But even if it doesn't... I can face anything the future throws at us, darling, as long as you're mine."

"I see."

Hank doesn't care what happens now, as long as we're together. It's a surprisingly romantic notion for a genius scientist, but I guess it shouldn't shock me too much. Haven't we been trying to squeeze happiness out of every moment with each other, no matter how impossible our relationship has seemed? This is more of the same, in a way.

And... as angry as I am with Hank for marking me without my consent, I have to admit that part of me is secretly  _relieved._  I had hoped that he would want to keep me forever, and he did. The decision of whether I could be that selfish- if I could bring myself to put aside my loyalty to my brothers and have my own life- was taken out of my hands. I get to follow my heart without bearing the guilt of making that ultimate choice. Hank made it for me, and there's no going back.

_Things without all remedy/ Should be without regard. What's done is done,_  I tell myself.

Nothing can change the fact that we're mates now, bound for life. I might as well forgive him and enjoy it, right?

Hank has been silent since his declaration, holding me and waiting for me to speak. I can feel the tension in his arms, how scared he is that I'll resent him over this.

I turn around in his embrace and tentatively smile up at him. "I guess if I'm yours," I say, "you're mine. Right?"

He gives me a goofy, besotted grin. "Right."

I giggle and pull him down for a kiss.

Then Hank holds me close against his chest, so we can just sorta bask in the moment together. He buries his nose in my hair and takes a deep inhale, obviously smelling the way my scent now reflects his. Just as his scent now has a hint of mine mixed in, thanks to our mating.

"Vivien?"

"Hmm?" I ask, snuggling against him.

"Will you marry me?"

The question- asked in our current situation, as we stand here in our unmentionables- startles me into a laugh. Married?  _Us?_  Why even bother with the custom when we're already mates?

" _Marry_ you? Is being mates not commitment enough or something?" I ask incredulously.

Hank cringes, like he's embarrassed.

"Seriously, Hank, why do you want to get married?" I press.

"Well... I didn't  _ask_  you to be my mate," he explains haltingly. "I stole that choice from you. But I'm hoping that you'll  _choose_  to be my wife." He swallows thickly and continues on, almost pleading now. "And besides- the way I see it, this is just another way to belong to each other."

Oh goddammit. He just wants us to belong to each other in another way? To give me a _choice_? I'd have to be a heartless bitch to tell that adorably hopeful face of his "no," for fuck's sake.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh.

_Well then. Looks like I'm getting married._

I mean, it's not like I  _mind_  marrying Hank or anything, no matter how redundant it is. Marriage is a human custom, a piece of paper that can be easily undone by more paperwork. Our mating is more permanent than that could ever be.

But if he wants to "belong" to me in another way I really can't complain. Not when I've fantasized about changing my last name to his more often than I'll ever admit.

"What?" Hank asks, a little defensive.

"I couldn't say 'no' to that, even if I wanted to," I explain sourly.

He perks up immediately. "Does that mean you're saying 'yes?'"

I nod, smiling at his joyful expression.

Hank picks me up and happily swings me around in circles, forgetting his dignity for a minute while I giggle in delight. I love it when he lets loose on his emotions like this. With my shy, reserved Hank these moments are an ultimate expression of trust.

"When?" he asks eagerly, holding me close.

I shrug. "I have no plans today. Want to hit up a justice of the peace?" I offer. "Unless you want something fancier?"

He shakes his head. "I don't care how it happens," he replies. "As long as we're married."

I wrinkle my nose at him. "I wonder if you're always going to be so sickeningly romantic the morning after sex?" I tease, reaching up to ruffle his hair in a gesture of fondness. "I guess I'll find out."

"I guess you will."

Jesus, we're getting  _married_  today.

What a change twenty-four hours can make, right? Yesterday I'd just escaped from the Brotherhood, and now I'm marrying the man of my dreams. The whole world's looking a little brighter right now.

As long as I ignore the possible death looming on the horizon, I mean.

I smile and give Hank a quick kiss before stepping away to start picking up my clothes. I already have the perfect outfit in mind, back at my safe house, so I figure I better head out before too long. No need to risk getting caught.

Hank frowns. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah," I reply, slipping back into my dress. "I've gotta get out of here before too many people are up and about. What will your neighbors think if they see me leaving in last night's clothes?"

"But-" he protests. "Do you have to-?"

"It's my wedding day, baby," I cut in, grinning. "I only get the one. I want to look nice."

He looks like he wants to argue with me for a second, but then sighs. I guess he realizes what a bad idea it would be to bicker with me about this when getting married was  _his_ idea in the first place.

"Fine," he agrees, though he's not very convincing about it. "And I suppose I should get you a ring? To make up for the anticlimactic nature of my proposal?"

I laugh. "Oh, yeah. A great big one," I reply sarcastically. Because I honestly don't care either way. If Hank  _does_  decide to give me a ring I'll wear it no matter what, because it's from  _him._

When I go over to the window seat and hop on in preparation to leave Hank trails along behind me like a kite on a string. "Vivien- perhaps it would be better if you stayed here," he blurts out, just as I'm about to unfasten the window sash.

I eye him warily over my shoulder, taking note of his anxious expression.

Knowing Hank, he's probably worried about my brothers waiting outside the mansion's grounds for me. They know that I've been seeing him now, and that I escaped from base, so it makes sense that I'd come to Xavier's for safety.

But I have a feeling my brothers will have also tattled to Magneto about me by now, and I highly doubt he's going to let them be so close to the school. Magneto's a crazy bastard, but he's also cunning. He knows two of his minions patrolling the perimeter could attract attention from the Professor, and with all his various shenanigans going on that's exactly what he  _doesn't_  need right now. So I think I'm safe on that front. For now, anyway.

"You're worried about my brothers finding me, aren't you?"

Hank nods.

I sigh and turn around to slip my hands around his neck. "I'm not going anywhere besides my apartment and the courthouse," I explain patiently.

"But what if they know about your-?" he protests.

"I moved it right after I escaped the base the other night," I explain. "Now I'm down in Chelsea."

"You moved all that stuff by yourself in one night?" he asks incredulously.

"You'd be surprised what I can do when I'm motivated. And trust me, I was  _motivated_ ," I reply. "I borrowed a truck and-"

His eyes narrow suspiciously. "Borrowed?"

I grin. "Well... I didn't  _ask_ if I could use it, if that's what you mean. But I  _did_  leave it in front of a police station with the keys in the ignition. And a few bucks for gas money. I may be a thief, but I'm an  _honorable_  thief," I tease.

Hank purses his lips like he wants to give me a pious sermon but is holding back. Smart move.

I laugh at his obvious disapproval. "You're still such a stuffy goody-goody," I observe. And yet he still loves me somehow, despite my occasionally...  _ambiguous_  morals. I lean down and kiss him. "And I wouldn't change a thing."

"Does this mean you're not angry with me?" he blurts out as I turn to go again. Obviously stalling me from leaving- Jesus, he is  _so_  transparent.

But his expression is so anxious that I end up answering truthfully. "Oh, I'm furious," I reply, though my tone is light. "But I know you'll make it up to me, somehow. And besides- to be honest... it was sorta inevitable, anyway."

"It was?"

"Yup. We can't fight fate like this. Don't tell me you can't feel it, baby," I murmur, grinning wryly. I playfully tap his nose with my finger. "Didn't you know? We're star-crossed lovers."

I've never believed in that shit before, but that's how it feels between me and Hank. Like destiny, or fate. Inevitable, like our love is written in the stars. I feel like we were  _meant_  to fall for each other, even though we were on enemy teams.

You know, the parallels to Romeo and Juliet are starting to get a little creepy.

As if I didn't have enough to worry about, right? What with all the murderous relatives and everything? Things aren't exactly shaping up for a happy ending between us right now.

_You can't think like that, Babineaux,_  I tell myself sternly.

Because worrying about what will or won't happen would only be a buzzkill. Today is our wedding day, a joyous occasion. Tomorrow will come when it comes, and I'll deal with that then. For now, just for today, I'm only going to focus on the happiness- however fleeting it may be- I'll get from marrying this man.

And with that thought in mind, I kiss Hank and jump out the window.


	72. Mrs. McCoy

**Mrs. McCoy**

As promised, I go straight to my safe house from Xavier's to get ready for our wedding.

My God, our  _wedding._

Because we're getting married. Me and Hank,  _married._

I have to keep telling myself that because it still hasn't really sunk in yet. That I get to keep him for the rest of our lives. Well, however long that ends up being now that the shit's really hit the fan, Brotherhood-wise.

Am I still pissed Hank didn't ask before marking me? Yeah, I am. It's a decision we should've made  _together,_  you know?

But at the same time I also understand that he made a mistake. A  _big_  mistake, but still. At least he acknowledged his fuck-up and wants to make it up to me in any way he can.

I figure that I can choose to spend the rest of my life mad at him and resentful for this, or just be thankful to have such a wonderful mate. Hank would have been my choice anyway- I mean, seriously, how could  _anyone_  even compare to him? It's like I made that man in a computer. So my anger about this whole situation won't last long.

Not when it's practically a dream come true that he's  _mine_  now.

I can't help laughing to myself as I arrange my hair into an elegant updo that includes a braided halo around my head, to cover my ears. I even bought some blue violets from the florist down the street to slip into my hair.

Violets, the old man behind the counter said, mean faithful love. Kinda fitting for a wedding, in my opinion.

And now I'm laughing because if anyone told me a year ago that I'd be marrying  _Beast,_  of all people, I would've told them they were bat shit crazy.

But here I am.

I feel horrible now, remembering how I thought he was such a self-righteous prick when we first saw each other again after Paris. The truth is, Hank is the kindest, most genuinely  _good_  person I've ever met. His compassion makes me want to be a better person. To be worthy of him, I guess you could say.

And Jesus Christ, not to mention that man's  _brain._  I could listen to him talk about heavy ion fusion or whatever all day just to see his face light up with enthusiasm and joy. Science is something he truly loves, and I know what a big deal it is that he shares that sort of thing with me. Hank's not exactly what you could call an open book.

I guess we're similar that way.

In a lot of ways, actually. More than most people would probably guess at first. For the past several months we've been each other's escape from a war neither of us wanted to be a part of in the first place. We're both trying to do the best we can with the hand life's dealt us.

And now we'll do it  _together._

I will gladly spend the rest of my life trying to make Hank happy. The dude deserves it, for fuck's sake, after life has been so unkind to him. My parents at least acted like they  _loved_  me, back when they were still alive. I can't say the same about Hank's.

He told me a bit about his childhood- how he knew his mutation was an embarrassment to his parents, so he tried to achieve academically to get some little scrap of approval from them. No joy, though- from what I can tell, instead they mostly just ignored him.

And when they weren't doing that, they were treating him like some sort of leper. His mom even took him to prayer meetings and faith healers to "cure" him of what she saw as an affliction. "God made you this way for a reason," she'd tell him with tears in her eyes. Like her son was something to be  _ashamed_  of, instead of the gift he  _truly_  is.

In my opinion, anyway.

You have no idea how difficult it was to keep my mouth shut and not tell Hank that his parents sound like a big pair of assholes for treating him like that. And the worst part was that Hank didn't even seem angry over the emotional neglect whenever he spoke about them or his childhood. I mean, I totally would have forgiven the guy for whining about it, but he didn't. It's just something he accepted, almost like he thought they had a point. The poor thing even let school bullies hit him while he was growing up because he thought they were right. That he  _was_  a freak, some sort of monster that needed to be fixed.

Knowing all of that makes it so obvious, why he was willing to go to such extremes to find a way to hide his mutation. The poor guy just wanted to be accepted. To be  _loved._

And then it all backfired on him when his serum went wrong. I'm sure Hank thought for a while there that he wasn't meant for happiness, especially while he was playing the Felix to Charles' drugged-up version of Oscar for ten fucking years.

But it's different now. Now he has me.

I'll give him all the love he's been missing this whole time, because I think he's perfect just the way he is. I mean, I'm not saying that I can make up for twenty-nine years of a crappy life, but you can bet your ass that I'm going to try.

And in return I get  _Hank._

Hank, who makes me feel so beautiful and loved. Though he may not always completely approve of my bad decisions, he still accepts me for who I am, flaws and all. I've always felt like an alien surrounded by strangers my entire life, even with my own brothers. No one has ever really understood me the way he does. He makes me happy and whole- like he was this piece of myself I always felt was missing somehow.

And now I'm never letting him go.

* * *

Hank's waiting for me outside the courthouse already when I arrive wearing a white lace, knee-length dress with flowing sleeves. I know I don't exactly qualify to wear bridal white- last night's activities were kinda a case in point- but it's my  _wedding,_  dammit. I'll do what I want.

I cover my mouth to hide my fangs from passerby as I grin, eyeing Hank appreciatively. "Oh my God,  _look_  at you," I say. He's wearing a dark navy blue suit that makes his eyes stand out even more than usual, and then a big, beautiful smile. It's a struggle not to jump him right here and now.

Present company, and all that.

I settle for grabbing his plaid tie and pulling him down for a kiss. "Hello, handsome."

"H-hi," he stutters breathlessly.

"You ok?"

Hank nods. "Y-you look  _so_  beautiful, Vivien," he murmurs, evidently awestruck. He reaches up and softly touches one of the flowers in my hair, a goofy, besotted grin on his face. "It's hard to believe you're mine."

I lower my eyes, and my cheeks warm up in spite of myself. "Well, I am," I tell him, smiling shyly. Jesus, who ever thought that  _I_  would be a blushing bride? "So get used to it."

And I thought his smile couldn't get any brighter. Turns out I was wrong.

Hank can barely take his eyes off of me, even while we're at the counter filing for our marriage license. Almost like he thinks I'm going to disappear at any moment if he blinks. Though to be fair, maybe the only reason I notice his staring so much is because I can't look away from him, either.

By the time we take our places in front of the judge we're both grinning like idiots at each other. I have to keep reminding myself to hide my fangs. I don't want the guy to have a heart attack and keel over or whatever before he marries us.

"I, Henry, take you, Vivien, to be my wife," Hank recites. "To have and hold from this day forward, for better and for worse-"

The vows, for all that thousands of couples have used them before Hank and I, seem to take on a deeper meaning as we say them. I guess it's because for ferals taking a mate is a physical and very  _intimate_  act. This, on the other hand, is a big public declaration: he is mine, and I am his. We're making our vows under God and the law or whatever.

Another way to belong to each other, Hank called it.

God, I'm so glad we're doing this. I guess I didn't realize how much I needed to  _hear_  Hank promising to bind his life to mine until I actually heard him saying the words.

"Do you have rings to exchange?" the judge asks in a bored tone.

Hank nods.

Wait, what?

I give him a questioning look, but his only reply is to reach into his pocket and pull out a ring with a big fat diamond on it.

"Oh my God, baby," I gasp in surprise. "I was  _joking_  about the ring thing."

He shrugs. "I guess I didn't get the punchline."

I can't help bursting into laughter over his casual air.

Oh yeah, just a big diamond ring in my pocket for you. No big deal, right?

I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him for all I'm worth.

Because if I know Hank- and I'd like to think that at this point I  _do-_  he  _made_  this beautiful ring for me. The fact that he designed this himself makes it all the more special and lovely, you know? And that sort of effort needs to be  _properly_  appreciated.

The judge coughs. "Um, ma'am, we're not quite to that part yet," he grumps. Jesus, what a sour puss. Maybe he's grouchy because he has to wear a dress to work. "Could you please-?"

I roll my eyes and kiss Hank again before finally stepping back in to place, grinning.

What can I say? I'm a rebel.

And besides, for a guy who performs wedding ceremonies all day, every day, this judge doesn't have a sense of romance at all. He needs to take the stick out of his ass or something, jeez.

Hank stifles a chuckle- his thoughts probably mirrored mine.

He becomes more serious when the judge directs him to slide the ring onto my finger. "With this ring, I give you my heart," Hank murmurs fervently. His eyes are burning with the intensity of his emotions right now, warming me with just his gaze. "I promise from this day forward that you shall not walk alone. May my heart be your shelter, and my arms be your home."

Oh, if only he knew how true those words are. Yes, Hank  _is_  my home. From now on, the place where I belong is by his side.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the judge declares. He gives me a pointed look.  _"Now_  you can kiss him."

So glad to have your permission, dude. Really,  _so_  glad.

I make a point to kiss Hank with extra enthusiasm, because he's my  _husband_  now, and I can if I want to. It's legal and everything.

* * *

"Where to now, Mrs. McCoy?" Hank asks as we step outside the courthouse, hand-in-hand. He seems to really like the way my new name sounds.

Well, likewise. Because I'm not going to lie- hearing him call me that makes a little thrill run through me.

I cast my eyes down demurely and smile. "I  _am_  Mrs. McCoy now, aren't I?" I laugh. Someone give me a notebook so I can doodle my new name all over it. "'Vivien McCoy' really does have a nice ring to it."

"It does indeed."

His expression is so joyful and ecstatic that I forget for a second that he actually asked me a question.

"Let's buy a cake and go down to visit everybody in Hell's Kitchen," I suggest after a moment's thought. There's no other people I'd rather celebrate our wedding with than our friends. Because I love them... and also because pretty much everyone else who knows us would have an aneurysm if they found out about us getting married. And then I add, recalling Marcel's repeated innuendos towards Hank, "I can't wait to see Marcel's face when I tell him you're officially off the market."

Hank raises his eyebrows incredulously.

"What?" I tease, grinning coyly. "Maybe I want to show you off a little, husband mine. You're quite a catch, you know."

He chuckles, though I can tell he doesn't believe I'm serious.

I am, though.

"Alright then," he agrees. "Lead the way, my love."

We place a rush order at a nearby bakery (for a sponge cake, of course. What other kind of cake would you get for a Twinkie connoisseur like Hank?) and then head over to the new safe house so I can pick up my camera.

"Must we?" Hank mutters sourly.

"Oh, Hank," I chide. "Humor me, just for today. I mean- we have almost  _no_  pictures of us, after all this time. And that's just sad."

He grimaces and doesn't answer for a moment.

Probably because he knows I'm  _right-_  the only pictures we have are from that photo booth in Ocean City. Isn't our wedding day worth capturing for prosperity's sake, too?

I'm about to point this out to him when Hank sighs. "Alright, fine."

"Thank you, baby," I tell him, with a kiss to reward his reasonableness.

And off we go to our makeshift "reception."


	73. Honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credit to He Is We for "All About Us."

**Honeymoon**

Our friends are startled to see us so soon after our weekly Tuesday visit- especially since we come bringing cake, not Campbell's.

"Surprise!" I call out as we approach. I hold out my left hand, where Hank's ring shines brightly. "We just got married!"

"Congratulations!" several people call out.

We're quickly surrounded, with everybody wishing us well. The hugs and affectionate pats on the back feel really nice, considering how our families would feel if they knew about this.

"You not pregnant, are you, baby girl?" Marcel jokes.  _Of course_  he can't resist the urge to tease us. "Shotgun wedding, anyone?"

Oh Jesus, let's not even go there. The whole now-we're-mated-for-life thing is enough relationship upheaval for me, thanks.

"No, of course not," I reply hastily. "We just wanted to, is all."

"Uh-huh, sure," he says, grinning wickedly. But then he feigns a mournful expression as he turns towards Hank. "I thought we had something, Hank."

Hank coughs. "Sorry, Marcel," he returns in mock solemnity. He kisses my temple and squeezes me closer against his side. "But you never stood a chance against this one."

And all of us laugh.

Eventually the whole thing becomes quite a party- there's food and even dancing to music provided by someone's little radio. Honestly, I feel like the only thing that would make it better is if Theresa and Harry were here to share this with us. But unfortunately there's still been no sign of them.

It doesn't surprise me that Hank sorta sets up camp leaning against the alley wall, Coke in hand. He's pretty much a dictionary definition of the term "wallflower."

Me, on the other hand- I have a blast dancing with everyone. All of the guys of the group want a song with the bride.

Marcel is my favorite partner, though, just because he's so outrageous. "I'm the  _queen_  of the Ice Palace, baby girl," he assures me proudly when I compliment him on his moves.

"I don't doubt it," I reply, laughing.

He grins and spins me around. "Your hubby hasn't stopped lookin' at you this whole time, you know," he comments after a moment.

Marcel's not wrong- I can feel Hank looking at me, that weird awareness you get when you feel someone's gaze on you. Sure enough, when I glance over at him I can see my husband (because that's what he is now, my  _husband_!) watching me with that special, happy glow in his eyes.

My cheeks go a little warm. "He likes seeing me happy," I explain to Marcel shyly. "God, Marcel, I'm  _so_  damn lucky to have him."

"As long as he treat you right," my friend says. "You deserve it, baby girl."

I snort and shake my head.

"No, Vivien, it's true," he assures me. His expression suddenly becomes simultaneously both wistful and yet somehow devious. "And now... since you  _had_  to go and take Hanky off the market, you know if he got a cousin or something?" he teases. "I need me a good man, too."

"Oh my God." I'm laughing at him, but I really do hope he finds a nice guy to sweep him off his feet some day. After everything he's been through Marcel really deserves some joy, you know? Now I hug him, still giggling. "Marcel, I love you."

"Love you too, baby girl."

When the song ends he steps away for a Coke, leaving me momentarily without a partner.

Not for long, though.

Betty's little boy, Johnny, toddles over to me with his hands eagerly raised.

"Hey, little man," I coo. "You want to dance with me?"

He nods and gestures again for me to pick him up.

I chuckle and scoop him into my arms. Together we laugh and spin in circles for a song, and then when I go to put him down Johnny kisses me on the cheek.

"Muah!" he says, and then he shyly runs back to his mama, giggling as he goes.

Aw, man. He's  _such_  a cutie.

Playing with Johnny always makes me want a baby of my own. I mean, I know there's a long list of reasons why that's impossible right now. But I still can't help wistfully thinking of some sort of magical future where me and Hank have kids.

I think I'd be a good mom- if I could stop cursing like a sailor, anyway.

Now Mr. Cole slowly gets to his feet, his hand out and searching for mine. "My turn?"

"Why, I'd be honored, Mr. Cole."

After we start swaying back and forth Mr. Cole comments, "seems like the only man ya haven't danced with today is your husband."

"He's not a fan of dancing," I explain in Hank's defense.

An idea strikes me then. Not so much about getting Hank to dance with me (though that's definitely part of it), but more about a sort of wedding present for him. Not all of us can make fancy jewelry or whatever, ok?

"Actually, Mr. Cole, do you want to help me with that?"

The older man perks up. "What do ya got in mind?"

"Well, you remember that melody we were playing around with last week...?"

* * *

Hank, speaking to Marcel, is oblivious of my approach. I figure that's actually a good thing, though- I might need the element of surprise when I pounce on him.

"Come dance with me," I say sweetly.

Hank grimaces. "I don't-"

"Please, baby?" I ask, batting my eyelashes at him. And for a finishing blow I kiss him on the cheek. It's an offer he can't refuse, as Don Corleone would say.

Sure enough, Hank's expression melts so completely it's comical. "Fine."

Marcel starts to laugh hysterically. "You so whipped," he tells Hank.

"Or maybe he's just being smart, giving his wife what she wants," I retort, sticking my tongue out at him. Doesn't he know how squirrelly Hank is right now? He's going to make my victim run away here, jeez!

Of course Marcel just laughs harder, so I quickly pull Hank away to the makeshift "dance floor." I have to practically drag him along, he's so reluctant.

"Relax, baby," I murmur to him, though of course he doesn't. And then I say to Mr. Cole, who's got his guitar and is ready to go, "Mr. Cole- you know what to do."

The old man grins and begins to play the song we just concocted between us.

I take a deep breath and start to sing:

_"Take my hand, I'll teach you to dance/ I'll spin you around, won't let you fall down/ Would you let me lead? You can step on my feet/ Give it a try, it'll be alright-"_

Within seconds Hank's entire demeanor changes. He listens to me singing just for him with this adorably goofy grin on his face, letting me lead him in mincing steps that kinda resemble a waltz. I think after a minute he doesn't even feel self-conscious anymore, which is nice. We just look into each other's eyes and smile like idiots in love.

Because let's face it- we totally  _are._

* * *

After we say goodbye to everyone we drive in a roundabout way back to my new safe house. Hank follows me up the stairs, but then he sweeps me into his arms as soon as I unlock the door.

I squeak in surprise. "What are you doing?" I ask, laughing.

"Upholding tradition," he replies, carrying me inside and setting me down. "Carrying my bride over the threshold."

God, he's so sweet he's going to give me cavities. I seriously wonder how a girl like  _me_  ended up with him, you know?

"Tradition, huh?" I press my hips against his and give him a naughty grin. "Any other traditions do you want to keep, hmm?"

Hank leans down and kisses me, crushing my body against his. "I can think of one or two," he murmurs.

_Oh my sweet baby Jesus. Is it just me, or is it suddenly really hot in here?_

That's pretty much the end of coherent conversation for quite a long time, because we're in that awesome phase of a relationship where it's just sex and food.

And even then the food part's sorta optional. Like, it takes me two tries to finally make it out of the apartment when I try to leave to get us some Chinese takeout because we can't keep our paws off each other.

It's almost midnight by the time we finally settle down into an exhausted sleep, though I wake up at one point to use the bathroom. When I come back out I can see Hank blearily watching me in the dark. My absence in bed must've woken him up. Oops.

He squeezes me closer and buries his nose in my hair when I burrow back under the covers with him.

"Sorry if I woke you," I whisper, nuzzling his arm as I settle back into being his "little spoon."

"It's fine," he murmurs. He leans down and kisses my neck. "What time is it?"

"About two AM," I reply sleepily.

I'm actually kinda surprised that Hank didn't suggest we return to Xavier's for the night, but it's obviously too late now. I'm guessing he knew I didn't particularly want to go back with things as they are. I can't explain why, but it kinda feels like it would be hypocritical for me to take shelter there. Like I'd be taking unfair advantage of the mansion's safety when I don't have a right to it.

I mean, yeah, I'm not part of the Brotherhood anymore. But that doesn't mean that I want to become an X-Man or whatever now. I might trust Professor X more than I trust Magneto, but that's not really saying much, is it? In the end they're both manipulative bastards. One is just nicer about it.

And then of course the rest of the X-Men would be more likely to fry my ass with a laser beam or a lightning bolt first and ask questions later if I happened to show up at their door step. It doesn't matter that I want to stop Magneto, too. They're just not going to believe me, and I can't say I blame them.

Nope, I think from now on I'm going to be an independent operator and try to take out the Brotherhood as best I can.

But where does that leave Hank?

He will always be an X-Man, nothing can change that. And with me in the no man's land between the two groups...

You know what? I'm not going to think about this shit right now.

Because it's my wedding night, dammit. After everything we've been through to get to this moment, I feel like I deserve just  _one_  fucking night to ignore the impending shit storm. Just one.

I'll worry about everything else tomorrow.

_After all, tomorrow is another day,_  I tell myself sardonically.  _Thank you, Scarlett O'Hara._

And with that I drift off to sleep, safe and content in Hank's arms.

* * *

May 16, 1975

I wake up the next morning with no Hank beside me in bed. I can tell immediately that the apartment is completely empty except for me. Even his clothes are gone, like he just vanished into thin air.

Where the hell did he run off to?

I mean, I'd almost believe that I  _dreamed_  last night if I weren't sore in all the best ways right now. And then there's the giant ring on my finger, too.

Definitely not a dream. I'm Hank's mate  _and_  his wife now.

So where's my man?

_Oh, maybe he's out getting me breakfast!_

I mean, come on. Knowing Hank that's definitely a possibility. Not to brag or anything, but the guy kinda spoils me.

Feeling hopeful, I groggily slip back into my panties and a camisole. With my distinct lack of boobs I can easily get away without wearing a bra.

A big yawn overtakes me just as the door opens, revealing my Hank.

"Good morning, my love," he says brightly. Too brightly, to be honest.

Oh Jesus. I wonder if he's always one of those  _obnoxiously_  perky people in the morning? The kind that's all sunshine and roses before  _normal_  human beings are even fully functional yet? That shit's weird.

I snort and throw myself back against the pillows, pulling the covers over my head to protect myself. I'm not awake enough to deal with the maniacal good cheer yet, dammit.

"I brought you breakfast."

On second thought...

I peek out from under the blanket and raise my eyebrows. Oh really?

"I knew that would get your attention," Hank laughs. He sits down on the edge of the bed and presents the to-go box in his hands. "How does a double bacon cheeseburger, some onion rings, and a chocolate shake sound?"

A man who knows the way into my heart.

I giggle and sit up. "It sounds like you're putting yourself in the running for husband of the year," I reply, kissing him thoroughly as a thank you.

Hank's smile stiffens, his jaw tightening just a little. His sudden disquiet causes a tension in the air.

Uh oh.

I freeze with the burger halfway up to my mouth, watching him squirm. Dear Lord, the man has no poker face at all.

"Or like you're trying to butter me up for something," I mutter. He shifts guiltily. Aw, and here I was thinking he was being charming for the sake of it. It kinda stings, to be honest. "What is it, Hank? Spit it out."

Hank sighs deeply. "Darling, we need to talk."

Well shit. Sounds like the honeymoon period is over already.


	74. House Arrest

**House Arrest**

I frown. "About what?" I ask warily.

"About what we're going to do now," Hank replies, his tone reasonable and mild.

Aw, shit. I have a bad feeling he has some sort of speech prepared and I'm  _not_  going to like the point of it.

Sure enough-

"I think- if you're willing, of course- that we should go to Charles and explain ourselves."

And we have a winner. Why am I not surprised?

I snort derisively. "And then what? I become an X-Man? I don't think so," I say, shaking my head. "I'm not much of a team player, Hank. I mean, the only reason I joined the Brotherhood in the first place was to keep my family together. Look how well that turned out."

"Vivien, be logical about this. Do you really think we're going to take down the Brotherhood all alone?" Again with the irritatingly reasonable tone. "You can't just go in like the Lone Ranger-"

I can't help laughing at that mental image. "The Lone Ranger, really?" I tease, trying to distract him. "Does that make you Tonto? I think you're a bit too articulate for that."

Hank glares at me reproachfully, refusing to take the bait.

I chuckle at his grouchiness and take a bite of my burger to give me a second to marshal my own arguments against his. That's what married people do, right? They  _discuss_ things. So if Hank wants to be all logical about this I can too. I think?

"And anyway- do you  _really_  think the X-Men would be open to me joining them?" I ask speculatively. "You saw how they treated me back in October."

"You were part of the Brotherhood then," he argues.

"Yeah, but what's the proof that I'm not now, huh?" I retort. "Just my word and yours? I know  _I_  wouldn't believe me. Or you, baby. Clearly, your brain is too fogged by sex to know any better. I'm obviously a double agent trying to get information for the Brotherhood, and you're falling for it like a chump."

Hank's cheeks go a little pink- from embarrassment or frustration, I'm not sure. "Give them more credit than that, darling," he pleads.

I shake my head. "They might be better-than-average people, but they're still  _people._  You tell them you've been sneaking out to see me for months, and they're going to turn on you. The Professor, too. It's too risky."

I think that's the moment when it really hits me. How horribly I've fucked up Hank's life, I mean. I was too selfish to let him go, I insisted that if he wanted me he had to sneak around... and now we're mates. He's stuck with me forever.

Yesterday that knowledge made me really happy, but today it scares the shit out of me.

_Forever._

Hank can't decide one day that he's had enough of this secrecy crap and walk away before our relationship comes to the attention of the X-Men. And if they find out... they're going to see Hank's love for me as a betrayal to them. They're not going to trust him again. The life he's built for himself, the place where he belongs... it would be  _gone._

And it would be  _my_  fault.

But what's the alternative? Running away together isn't a long term solution, and neither is staying here. We still need to stop the Brotherhood, and Hank needs access to a lab to make his serum. Without it his freedom to move around would be toast.

Our only real hope is stopping Magneto and my brothers before the X-Men find out about us. And after that... well, I'll worry about that when the time comes. One imminent disaster at a time, thanks.

"You don't know that. We have to at least  _try,_  Vivien," Hank argues. "You may believe that we can do this on our own, but I know better. You're not invincible, love. And I refuse to just let you die because you're too stubborn to ask for help. Or do you have a death wish or something? Is that it?"

Well that's just downright  _offensive._

Call me crazy, but it basically sounds like he's saying I'm too stupid and helpless to take care of myself. That I have some sort of desire to  _die._ How the fuck can he even say that, when we both damn well know that if  _I_  die he won't be far behind me?  _How?_

So yeah, I'm pissed that he could even entertain the idea.

I bare my fangs at him. "Got any other comments about my skills, my mental state or my intelligence?" I hiss, throwing down my food. "Come on. Better get it all down on the table now."

"I didn't mean it like that," Hank groans. "I'm trying to keep you safe, Vivien. Not because I think you're a fainting flower or anything like that. But because the thought of something happening to you scares me to death. Now, I know we have a moral responsibility to try to take down Erik's plan no matter what, but what's wrong in giving ourselves the best chance to do it and come out alive? And I think going to the X-Men gives us that chance."

I honestly don't know how to respond to that, so I say nothing.

Hank seems so sure that the X-Men will forgive us, but it's not a risk I'm willing to take. What if they turned on him? We'd have  _two_  angry mutant gangs on our asses, one of which has my own brothers in it.

My brothers.

_Jesus, Babineaux-_  McCoy, _whatever. They're your enemies now,_ I scold myself. _Get over it._

I wish it were that easy, but it's not like I can flip a switch in my brain and forget that James and Myles are the only family I have left. Even after everything they've done to me...

It's an adjustment process, I guess. I'm not made of stone, alright?

Hank sighs. "Just- think about it, please?"

I nod uneasily.

"Do I have your word?" he presses. "That you'll think about it?"

Oh goddammit. Like a dog with a fucking bone, I swear.

I glower at him. "You have my word." I make the promise through my teeth.

"Thank you."

I begrudgingly offer Hank some onion rings and a bit of my chocolate shake but after that conversation he's  _definitely_  not touching my burger. I think the look on my face tells him he better not ask for a bite, either. My generosity has a limit, man.

We're quiet while we eat, but as soon as we're done he tentatively asks, "would it be too much to ask of you to go back to the mansion with me today? I need more serum."

I eye him warily. "And then we'll come back here?"

He winces. "Well, I was more hoping that you would be willing to stay there," he admits. "You can stay in my room, and I'll bring you food-"

"Dammit, Hank, I'm not a puppy you can keep in your room and sneak food to!" I snap.

"I know that," he replies quickly. "I just want-"

"If you say you just want me to be safe again I swear to God, baby, I'm going to smack you with this pillow," I warn, snatching up a fluffy weapon to show I mean business.

It's not that I think any of the students will catch me or anything- I'm too good at evasion for that. I just don't feel comfortable bringing danger to Xavier's door without him knowing about it, I guess. I'm not sure if Hank would see the validity in that reasoning, though.

"Vivien," he implores, complete with big blue puppy dog eyes, the  _bastard._  "Darling, please."

Hank's already agreed to let me think about talking to Professor X, rather than going and doing it without my consent. He compromised for me, even though he truly believes telling the X-Men is the right choice. And now he's asking me to stay somewhere that he believes is safe. Again, putting me and my well-being first.

Damn.

As much as I hate this, I think I've gotta throw the guy a bone here. Compromise and all that shit married people are supposed to do, right?

I groan and throw myself flat on the bed in defeat.

Hank seems to sense my acquiescence. He scoots over so he's halfway on top of me now. "Is that a 'yes?'" he prompts, brushing a hand across my cheek.

I scrunch my nose at him. "Hmph."

His relief over my surrender is evident in the smile he gives me. "Thank you," he murmurs. He leans down and starts to kiss along my neck, which of course makes me melt against him. The big fat cheater. "I love you."

I sigh. "I love you too, Hank."

* * *

By me keeping my head down in the car Hank is able to drive us both in the Institute's gates with no code-breaking required on my part. I then hop out of the car before we get too close to the mansion and sneak over to quickly scale the wall to his window.

I'm sitting in the middle of the bed waiting when Hank finally enters the room. I can't help noticing how his face lights up when he sees me. Like having me in here, in his space, makes him really happy for some reason.

Too bad this is obviously a temporary thing. I mean, there's no way we'll be able to get away with me staying in here for too long.

I sigh as Hank comes over to join me.

He frowns. "What's wrong?"

I make a face at him. "I just don't know how comfortable I can be here," I admit. "Eventually the Brotherhood is going to decide to target me, and with me being  _here-"_

"They can't get past the security system, Vivien," he assures me. "Now that I've applied several updates, they don't stand a chance."

" _I_  can," I point out.

"Yes, but that's because you're you, darling. You've never met a code you couldn't break," Hank replies, kissing me on the cheek. "We both know the rest of the Brotherhood doesn't have your skills."

"Oh, stop trying to flatter me," I scoff, pretending to wave him off.

"Why, is it working?"

I can't help laughing at his cheekiness, so hard I almost fall of the bed. Hank catches me, though, and I use the opportunity to snuggle in close to him.

Considering that I'll get to be around my mate on a pretty much constant basis for the first time ever, staying here won't be  _so_  bad. Besides the whole house arrest aspect, I mean. I might as well enjoy the opportunity while it lasts.

"Come here, you," I murmur against Hank's lips as I start to unbutton his shirt.

He immediately growls, low in the back of his throat.

_Damn, he's sexy._

And for a few hours we allow ourselves to sink into newly-wedded bliss.

* * *

May 18, 1975

Don't get me wrong, there are parts of the next few days that I really enjoy. Most of it, even, because spending so much time with Hank is a real joy.

We read to each other and then have spirited discussions (ok,  _arguments_ ) about books well into the night. Hank makes a habit of basically  _wrapping_  himself around me when we fall asleep, like a big fluffy blanket. It sounds like it would be annoying but it's really not. I've yet to have a nightmare with him holding me like that, as corny as that sounds.

And then of course there's the sex, which is  _awesome._

"Damn, baby. How'd you learn to be such a stud in the sack?" I tease, breathless, after yet another bout of mind-blowing sexy time.

He shifts over to lay next to me, his cheeks flushing bright purple. Not surprising, really, since it's the first time either of us has really alluded to his  _experience_  level, if you know what I mean.

"Instinct, mostly. And... I read," he replies self-consciously.

"Oh my God," I giggle. "You  _read?_  You read what? Are you telling me you have a secret porn stash in here somewhere?"

"No," Hank retorts, blushing further. And then, after a moment, "well, not exactly."

"What?" I squawk.  _"You?"_

The thought of  _Hank,_  of all people, having some sort of kinky erotica collection is unbelievable. I mean, I'm  _definitely_  not complaining here, considering how I'm the one reaping all the benefits of his literary  _sexpertise,_  but come on.  _Hank?_

It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?

"I've gotta see this," I announce.

"Er-"

"Aw, come on, Hank!" I plead eagerly. "You can show me. I promise I won't judge or anything. I'm just curious, really. Please?"

He still looks reluctant, but he sighs and slips on his boxers. To my surprise he leads me over to a bookcase- I mean, I kinda half-expected crusty magazines in a drawer here.

Hank gestures to the top shelf.

I stand on tiptoe to take a look-

"The fuck is this?" I ask.  _"Speculum al foderi?"_

"'The Mirror of Coitus,' in Latin," he explains stiffly. "It's Catalan. From the fifteenth century."

I start to giggle so much Hank has to reach out and catch me so I don't fall over. "Oh, Jesus. Even your porn is nerdy," I gasp, shaking with laughter.

He opens his mouth to defend himself, but I cut him off with a kiss.

"God, I love you," I tell him. "Now come work more of your nerdy sex magic on me."


	75. Come and Get Them

**Come and Get Them**

For the next few days Hank spends as much time with me as he can, only leaving to get us food and to check on his laboratory (which, by the way, I still really want to see).

But I'm aware that sticking to his bedroom isn't usual behavior for him, even factoring in it being a weekend. The guy practically  _lives_  in his lab, for God's sake. Surely someone's going to notice at some point?

After a while my paranoia gets the better of me.

"Isn't someone going to wonder eventually why the hermit has ditched his cave?" I muse as I lay with my head on his chest, hands entwined.

Hank chuckles. "I doubt it," he replies. "If anyone does notice they'll merely think that I just abandoned one den for another. I have a reputation for keeping to myself, you know."

"Loner," I accuse, laughing.

He grins sheepishly.

"Don't worry, baby," I assure him. "We're loners together."

"Indeed," he agrees, and he laces his claws in my hair to pull me in for a kiss.

* * *

May 19, 1975

Being loners together is great, it really is.

But by the time Monday afternoon rolls around I'm starting to feel like the walls of Hank's room are closing in on me. I'm bored of being in an enclosed space, of being stuck in this room. There's plenty of books, yeah, but I miss my music. I want to feel the sun on my face, to smell fresh air while I stretch my legs.

After Hank excuses himself to go down to his lab for a while I find myself pacing back and forth just to make sure the walls stay where they're supposed to and don't start creeping in on me.

"Sweetheart?" Hank asks tentatively. I didn't even notice him come in, I'm getting so strung out. "Are you ok?"

"I'm awesome, obviously," I mutter, my tone acidic. I trail my claws along the back of the sofa to ward off the oncoming feeling of sensory deprivation. "Nothing like staring at the same four walls and no sunlight for three days. Really, it's doing marvels for my complexion, don't you think?"

I hold out a (very pale, very freckly) arm for Hank's inspection.

He winces for a moment, but then takes my hand in both of his and brings it to his lips. "Bored with me already?" he asks, and though he's trying to keep it light I can hear the underlying anxiety in his voice.

Of course he  _would_  jump to that conclusion, wouldn't he? Dammit.

As much as I try to remind myself to be patient while Hank works through his insecurity- after all, I know that shit's not going to go away overnight- right now I'm afraid my frustration at this whole situation gets the better of me.

I give him a sardonic look. "Of course not, baby," I retort impatiently. "I'm just- I'm going stir-crazy in here, Hank. As nice as it is to be with you all the time, I still need to get out and stretch my legs. And I can't do that here without someone possibly seeing me."

"I know," he sighs. "I understand. But tomorrow's Tuesday. We can go see Mr. Cole and everyone in Hell's Kitchen. That's something, right?"

A little parole from my house arrest? Hells yeah.

"Right," I agree, trying to give him a smile.

* * *

May 20, 1975

The next afternoon I happily jump out of Hank's window in order to meet him past the school's front gate so we can go to Hell's Kitchen together.

It's hot out but I don't care. It's nice to  _finally_  feel the sun on my skin again, to run across the grass. And then when I get in Hank's car I insist on having the window down so I can feel the fresh air blowing on my face.

"What?" I ask when I catch Hank repeatedly glancing at me.

I half-expect him to say that I remind him of a dog, grinning like an idiot and sticking my head out of the window like that, but he doesn't.

"Nothing," he replies. "Just enjoying looking at my lovely wife."

Be still, my heart.

I chuckle. "Well don't forget to look at the road occasionally, too."

"Yes, ma'am."

After a stop at a grocery store we finally arrive in Hell's Kitchen, heading for the alleyway just like any other Tuesday.

Except today there's no one to greet us. The alley is completely deserted.

"Where is everyone?" I ask, puzzled.

"I don't know," Hank replies.

I set down my bags and step closer, looking around carefully. I'm vaguely aware of him shadowing me.

There are blankets on the ground, and the metal barrels our friends cook over still have live embers in them. It feels like they just stepped away and will be back at any second.

But where did they go?

I mean, it's not like this was a planned move, right? Otherwise they would've taken their stuff with them.

On instinct I lift my nose into the air and start to sniff, trying to see if I can pick up a clue that way.

"I don't like this," Hank mutters uneasily.

"Hmm," I murmur, still concentrating. There's so many familiar scents swirling around in here that it's hard to differentiate. Kinda like a sensory overload.

"Anything?" he asks after a moment.

I shake my head in disappointment. "I don't understand," I whisper. "It's like they just...  _disappeared_."

Both of us shiver, like a black cloud just passed overhead.

Hank clears his throat uncomfortably. "I'm going to ask around the neighborhood, see if anyone's seen anything and willing to share."

I nod distractedly, barely listening, because I'm focused on smelling a jacket I remember seeing on Marcel. There's something odd about it, another scent besides Marcel's that's familiar to me but out of place here...

"Be careful, baby," I manage to say. "You still look too much like a goddamn boy scout to fit in around here."

Hank grins and kisses me on the temple before stepping away.

_I_  know _this scent,_  I muse to myself as I sniff at Marcel's jacket again. Why  _do I know this scent?_

A small piece of paper flutters out of the garment as I turn it over in my hands- a business card, I realize.

Curious, I bend over and pick it up, setting down the jacket in the process.

_"Major William Stryker,"_  the card says in plain bold lettering on the front.

And on the back, in a hand I recognize as James', it reads,  _"COME AND GET THEM."_

Oh my God. Oh my  _God._

The scent I couldn't place was James'. The lovely sibling who tried to have me fucking brain-washed the last time I saw him.

No no no no  _no._

This can't be real. Someone  _please_  tell me I'm dreaming this shit.

James- and probably Myles, too- came here, took my friends, and did what? Gave them to Stryker? In that case, who even  _knows_  what that sick fuck is doing to them? Oh God.

It honestly feels like someone just punched me in the stomach.

The business card falls from my nerveless fingers as my feet start robotically moving out of the alley. My only thought is to  _act-_  to find my friends in time to save them from God-only-knows-what. I don't even know  _how_  yet. I just have to find them.

I'm sure I get a lot of startled looks as I sprint through New York City as fast as I can, vaulting cars and running over hoods when I have to. But it's not like I stick around to explain myself- or even give a flying fuck, really. So what if these strangers realize I'm a mutant? They would have to catch me to do anything about it. Fat chance on that.

I make it to my safe house in record time, change into my jumpsuit, and run back down to the car I left here the other day.

Alright, now what? Where do I even  _start?_

_Think, Babin-_  McCoy, _think._

Stryker has labs all over the damn country, but me and Hank narrowed it down to a few that he could actually be using to help the Brotherhood. One in Jersey, another in Rochester and then one in Yonkers...

It's like a light bulb goes off in my head, a memory of that conversation I eavesdropped on between James and Mastermind.

_Which lab did you take them to?_

_The one in Yonkers. It was the easiest. I'm holding them there._

And everything falls into place.

"That sonuvabitch," I snarl, and in my anger I punch a hole through the dashboard.

Harry and Theresa didn't relapse at all, I can see that now. Peter must've seen me with my friends and mentioned them to my brothers when he snitched on me. So then James took a couple- maybe as possible leverage down the line, I guess. But then I ran away, so he came back for the rest.

How could I be so fucking stupid? So  _blind?_

I didn't even  _think_  to protect my friends in Hell's Kitchen. I thought they were safe from the Brotherhood's notice, that my brothers had remained unaware of them even though they'd found out about Hank.

I was wrong.

Peter told them. I didn't even  _think_  to ask him if he did, but if I had? It would've drawn attention to them, I guess, but at least I would've  _known_  to protect them...

God, if my fuck up leads to them getting hurt somehow, I'll never forgive myself.

Or my brothers. Or Peter.

Oh Jesus, did he know what my brothers would do? And if so, did he even give a shit?

After everything that's happened, I honestly don't know. Would the son of Magneto care about what happens to a bunch of weak, harmless humans? Maybe he even helped.

_Dear Lord, please just let me get there in time to save them._

From what, though? I'm scared to find out.

* * *

The building is set several hundred yards back from the street, surrounded by a bunch of old elm trees. It looks like all of the workers have gone home for the day by the time I get there, though all the lights are on.

I don't bother with stealth- I don't have the fucking  _time_  for it. Instead of picking the lock on the front door I shatter the glass with my knives and step inside.

I'm not even that far in the building before the scent of blood hits me like a ton of bricks.

_Oh God. Oh God, no-_

My feet automatically carry me forward, though I dread what I'll find. I track the wretched smell to a set of double doors- the lab proper, I'm guessing.

_Please, no, please-_

But my heart turns to ash the second I step inside.

My gaze immediately falls on Marcel, sprawled out on top of a lab table with blood coming out of his eyes, his nose and mouth- even his ears. There's a congealed pool underneath him and no sign of life in his eyes at all. His skin is already cooling.

"No," I choke, touching his hair. "Marcel, no-"

The more I look, the worse it gets.

Theresa, Harry, Jimmy, Betty- all dead.

"Johnny!" I wail when I spy the once- vibrant little boy who danced with me only days ago. "No!"

The word is a constant refrain tearing itself from my throat, a useless denial of the carnage in front of me. One by one, I find each of my friends in pools of blood and vomit. With horror I realize that some of them puked out half-liquefied pieces of their own internal organs on the way out.

"What happened to you?" I cry out. "Oh God-"

A weak voice suddenly carries to me from the far corner of the room. "V-vivien?"

"Mr. Cole!" I'm at his side in an instant. "Mr. Cole, it's me, it's Vivien."

"Vivien." He gives me a small smile- the expression is unsettling because of all the blood.

Not dead yet, but dying.

I choke back a sob.

_No tears,_  I tell myself sternly. I'm afraid that if I start crying now I'll never fucking stop.

"Can you tell me what happened, Mr. Cole?"

"Couple of boys-" His cough sends a spray of blood flying. "Came to the alley. They were- fast 'nough to catch everybody. Marcel says they look like they could- be your brothers? Gave us- somethin' that they said would- make us mutants, like them. But-"

"It killed everyone instead," I whisper. "Oh, I'm so sorry. This is my fault for not protecting all of you. My brothers-"

"Hey now," Mr. Cole murmurs weakly. Blood is starting to pour out of his eyes, which for the first time I realize are focused right on me. "What they do- ain't  _your_  fault. And-"

He trails off like he's out of breath. His nose is bleeding now, and his ears too.

"C-can you see, Mr. Cole?" I ask, stroking his forehead.

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Crazy, huh? Like playin' guitar. Didn' think I'd- do that again. So there's that."

He coughs up a chunk of something grisly. Ugh.

I try to hush him, but he shakes his head. His hand raises slightly, searching for mine. When I take it his fingers give a feeble squeeze.

"I always knew- you were pretty, ya know," he gasps past more blood, smiling bravely. "'Cause of- your voice-"

"Mr. Cole," I whisper helplessly. I kiss him on the forehead, ignoring the gore. "Please don't-"

But with one last shuddering breath the old man dies.


	76. Bye, Guys

**Bye, Guys**

I never thought the expression "frozen with horror" could actually be a thing, but it is. It really is.

For several minutes I can't bring myself to move from Mr. Cole's side, my fingers still locked around his lifeless hand while my mind struggles to absorb what just happened.

It's not going all that well.

Not when there's this bottomless void inside me right now getting deeper by the second. An enormous emptiness that's somehow worse than the pain of grief because I'm scared that at any second the sorrow is going to come crashing down on me like a piano. I want to run from the anguish I know is coming, but how can you escape from the demons inside of your own mind?

God, this is such  _bullshit._

What did these people ever do to deserve this?  _Any_  of this? To be homeless and shat on every fucking day for it, and then die terrible, painful deaths? It's not  _fair-_  like a perversion of everything I wanted so badly to be believe was good and right in this world.

They were all so incredibly kind. Each and every one of these guys were glowing examples of humanity's beauty and love. Living proof that the Brotherhood's beliefs are complete horse shit. They accepted a mutant into their midst with open arms-

And look where it got them.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper. To a room full of dead people, because clearly I've lost my goddamn mind. "All of you deserved-  _so_  much better."

This fucking kills me. I know damn well that this is  _my_  fault, for not protecting them. Didn't I know how unhinged my brothers are? How sadistic Stryker and Mastermind are? How apathetic the twins are? And now-

Suddenly a white hot rage fills the vacuum in my chest, the fury spreading to my very fingertips. I can feel the injustice burning deep inside of me. How  _dare_  they do this to these innocent people? Could fate really be this fucking cruel, to let this happen?

I lean down and kiss Mr. Cole on the cheek. "Never again," I declare firmly. "Those bastards will never do this again, I promise. I- I owe you guys that."

Far from fading, my anger seems to blaze even hotter as I walk around to each one of my friends to say goodbye. I have to furiously blink back tears when I get to Johnny. He was just a baby for Christ's sake, a  _baby,_  and now his whole life has been taken away. And Marcel never got to find his own Prince Charming...

The tragedy of it all washes over me, leaving me broken and bleeding inside.

"I'm so sorry," I repeat, over and over again. I don't think I'll ever be able to apologize enough for this. I failed them, plain and simple. And no amount of regret will ever bring these wonderful people back.

It takes me a while, but after some serious searching I'm able to find an emergency kit with a bunch of candles in it. I light them all in the middle of the room and then make one of my special cleaning supply explosives.

"This is as good as I can give you," I murmur. "I... I love all of you. I promise I'll never forget you."

I really wish I could believe that Marcel and everyone are now in some sort of afterlife complete with fluffy clouds and harps and all that shit, but I'm not sure. I hope they are though, I really do.

I press one last kiss to Marcel's cheek. "Bye, Marcel," I whisper in a sad attempt at my usual flippancy. I fail miserably, of course.

And then I walk out.

For good measure I break a gas line down the hallway on my way to the exit. My friends are going to get a Viking funeral like you wouldn't believe.

It's only as I leave the building that I realize that I kinda rushed in, guns blazing, without really thinking about whether the Brotherhood or their new buddy Stryker would be waiting for me here. Guess that's an oops on my part, for not being more cautious.

And crap, I basically ditched Hank back in that alley without even telling him where I was going. I was just so scared I didn't think to wait for him. He's probably freaking out now, thinking the Brotherhood used our friends to lure me in.

Somehow the fact that the Brotherhood  _is_ _n't_  here pisses me off even more, as weird as that sounds.

Because that means my friends weren't used as bait or anything to capture me, nope. My brothers kidnapped these people just to get back at me, out of pure spite. Punishment for  _daring_  to leave them, the sick, sadistic  _bastards._

Well the gloves are off now. The Brotherhood- and their little minion Stryker- will regret this, and  _soon._  That's a fucking promise.

I make it to the treeline and stand watch, waiting for my makeshift bomb to go off and the gas to reach the candles. It should create a two-pronged explosion in ten minutes, give or take a few.

_And after that... the hunt begins,_  I tell myself grimly.

I've only waited a minute or so before I hear the sound of a jet plane approaching, coming in low. I hold my breath, hoping it keeps flying, but of course it doesn't. That would be too easy.

Goddammit. Looks like I've got unwanted company.

It just being Hank would be bad enough, but no, he had to bring the entire fucking Brady Bunch with him. Why the hell did he have to go and do that? I'm not in the mood to  _deal_  with these people right now, and I swear to God, if he told them about us I'm going to-

I watch the X-Men approach the edge of the trees, staying out of sight. To say I'm reluctant to reveal myself would be an understatement, but it's not like I can allow these guys to walk into a building that's about to blow.

"Let's take a closer look," Havok murmurs. "Beast, you and-"

I step out from behind a tree and lean against it.

"I wouldn't get any closer if I were you," I tell them.

Hank, who was facing away from me, whirls around to look in my direction at the sound of my voice. His profound relief at finding me alive is obvious in his expression.

My emotions in reaction to seeing him are more...  _mixed,_  I guess you could say.

I know damn well that it doesn't make sense, but I'm mad at him. I'm  _mad_  at him, ok?

Because the two of us were too busy basking in newly wedded bliss to notice that my friends were dying, and I irrationally want to blame him for it rather than rightfully bearing all the guilt myself. How  _dare_  he make me so happy while Marcel was bleeding out of his fucking eyeballs? And then Hank  _had_  to bring all the X-Men here, and I literally  _ditched_ him back in Hell's Kitchen and he should be  _pissed_ but instead he just looks glad to see me.

I don't deserve that, on so many levels. I don't deserve  _him. Especially_  considering what I'm going to do after I leave here. And that pisses me off.

Also, I could  _really_  use a hug right now.

So yeah.

All of those feelings flash through me in just a split second. And then the next moment the Cyclops kid is sending a laser beam at me, forcing me to dodge behind the tree for safety.

"Hold your fire!" Hank snaps. "It sounds like she was trying to warn us about something."

One of them- Cannonball, I think- snorts in disbelief. "Yeah, right. More like she's trying to distract us while the Brotherhood do something nasty," he retorts. "Hell, they could be circling us right now."

Yeah, sure. The dude gives my former teammates  _way_  too much credit. That sort of finesse is definitely beyond the Brotherhood's abilities.

"Vixen, are any of your- your  _friends_  here?" Hank asks, in a voice meant to carry.

_Friends._

Oh, the double entendre is not lost on me.

A rather hysterical giggle escapes me, which I know is a completely bizarre reaction.

Jesus, maybe this was the final straw and I've lost my marbles like Myles did. I mean, it's not like James is all that sane, either. He's clearly deranged, too. Maybe it runs in our family and I've officially joined the Looney Tunes.

"Not anymore," I reply bitterly, because it's true. I've got no friends left anymore. They're all dead or hate my guts now.

"I don't believe her," a female hisses. Oh Storm, you've always been my biggest fan. "There's gotta be at least her brothers hanging around."

"Marvel Girl, search the area," Havok orders Jean.

There's a wait of several tense seconds, but I already know she's going to come up empty as she makes a telepathic sweep.

At one point I'm aware of that soft little presence in my head again, but Jean almost immediately recoils from my mind. Like, I can  _feel_  her abruptly pull back. I guess I've got too much pain rolling around in me for the sensitive little telepath to handle. Wish  _I_  didn't have to.

"The nearest person is miles away. Vixen's alone," she announces quietly.

_Yeah, Havok._   _Vixen's_  alone _._  And _trying to save your ass from getting blown up._

"Hey, Vixen," Havok calls out. "Come out where we can see you. I promise that we'll play nice if you will."

I know he's too much of a goody-two shoes to double cross me into exposing myself, but that doesn't mean I'm actually willing to  _talk_  to any of them. I'd be tempted to just walk away and lose the X-Geeks in the trees if I didn't think they might ignore my warning once I'm gone and still try to go into that building.

Which, by the way, is less than three minutes from blowing up.

I step out from behind the tree again, moving cautiously out of habit. Hank is the closest X-Man to me but I can't bear to look him in the eye right now. I think if I did I might break down and run into his arms like a wussy, and I can't afford that right now.

Instead I focus on everyone else, taking in their mistrusting, hateful expressions. Tough crowd, I guess.

"Where are your little friends, Vixen?" Havok demands.

That word again, _friends._  I'm afraid that for the rest of my life that word will conjure up the mental image of blood-covered corpses on tables.

I scowl at him to stop myself from tearing up. "I don't have any friends," I mutter. "Not anymore."

The X-Men- except for Jean and Hank- all scoff incredulously.

"Cut the crap," Havok snaps. "We already know that Stryker is helping out the Brotherhood somehow. Now, there are more of us than there are of you-"

I bare my fangs at him. How the fuck does he get off threatening me when the only reason he knows about Stryker is because of  _my_  help? The ungrateful twerp.

"-So it'd be best if you just  _told_  us what was going on here."

_Well, you see, me and your furry blue colleague here have been sneaking around behind everybody's backs for months. And when my brothers found out about it they were so furious they decided to kill my poor, human friends to get revenge._

Yeah,  _that_  would go over well.

Contemplating the X-Men's reactions to that announcement is enough to make me let out another hysterical laugh, but the moment is quickly eclipsed by the mental images of just how deep the Brotherhood's revenge went.

My chuckle immediately turns into a gasp of pain at the fresh memory. I quickly clap my hand over my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to compose myself.

After a moment I manage to say, "the Brotherhood kidnapped a bunch of homeless humans and brought them here for Stryker to play with. I think- I think he tried to use some kind of experimental treatment on them, to turn them into mutants, and-"

The image of Mr. Cole coughing up a lung dances before my eyes, causing me to shudder.

"-And it didn't work. All of them- all of them died."

It's a small movement, but I notice Hank start to take a step towards me. I meet his gaze for a second and in a way it's like looking into a mirror, seeing the pain there. I think we could  _both_  use a hug right now, Jesus.

"Ok. So why exactly shouldn't we go in there?" Cannonball asks, eyebrows raised. "Didn't think you'd care about our delicate sensibilities."

Does he  _really_  want to go look at a bunch of dead people that badly? What the hell is wrong with this guy?

I roll my eyes and listen hard. That explosion should be happening at any second now.

Yup, that rumble sounds like the gas just caught on the candles. Which means-

I hold up three fingers. "Three... two... one."

Right on cue the laboratory building goes up in a beautiful explosion, easily the best one I've ever made. It's my Mona Lisa, my Sistine Chapel, and my friends deserved nothing less.

_Bye, guys._

The explosion comes complete with a shock wave so strong Jean kinda stumbles into Cyclops. Everyone else looks startled, to say the least. Well I  _did_  warn them not to go in there, didn't I?

"That's why," I say.

And that's when Havok sends a fucking laser beam right at me.


	77. Stop the Cycle

**Stop the Cycle**

Oh, great.

Looks like these guys have absolutely  _no_  appreciation for a good explosion. What a bunch of killjoys.

And now I've got a pack of angry X-Men attacking me. Damn, so much for playing nice, right? One little bomb detonation and these guys are all, "shoot first, ask questions later."

Well, fine.

If these jerks want to start a fight, I'll fucking finish it. I think all my rage could use an outlet, anyway.

I snarl and draw one of my knives to defend myself from Havok's energy blast. I use the blade to redirect the laser beam at Angel, who's making a running leap past Hank. Looks like Bird Brain is trying to tackle me.

The deflected beam hits him right in the chest, causing him to fall to the ground. Suck on that, Pretty Boy.

Now Cannonball comes flying at me, so I dodge him, grab his wrist, and spin him around so he flies right into a tree. I knock out Cyclops by throwing a knife, handle-first, into his forehead before he tries to send a laser beam at me too.

Now Storm tries to come at me, but I'm way too quick for her. I jump up, wrap my thighs around her neck, and flip her over so she lands on her back with a hard thud. I spring to my feet, ready to take on Havok-

I'm concentrating so hard on neutralizing the other X-Men that I don't anticipate Hank's attack fast enough. I mean, I guess I shouldn't expect him to just stand there while I mop the floor with his teammates, but I also didn't think he would try to  _squish_  me, either. Dumb move on my part.

Hank lunges at me, and even though I try to dodge him he still manages to pin me down.

I growl at him to express just what I think of his betrayal and struggle to break free. I'd  _really_  like to show Havok how I feel about that fucking laser beam after his promise to play nice.

"Vivien," Hank pleads, pressing his face against my neck, "please stop.  _Please_."

I desperately want to hold onto my anger, to stop myself from feeling the grief of losing my friends that's bubbling under the surface, but my mate's plaintive voice takes all the fight out of me.

After a few seconds of squirming I wilt against him. "They're all dead, Hank," I can't help whimpering. "All of them- even the baby. They were just  _left_  here to die so I could find them. I should've protected them. This- this is all my fault."

Hank gently squeezes my wrists and nuzzles me, the only affection he can really afford to give in the present circumstances. "This was  _not_  your fault, Vivien," he whispers firmly.

God, I wish I could believe that. But he's wrong, and I can't.

Hank rises to his feet, pulling me with him. Once we're standing he keeps his arms around me, hands on my wrists, so it looks to the others like he's restraining me. In reality I'm leaning against his chest, taking comfort from being in his arms even though I know damn well I don't deserve it.

"Nice work, Beast," Havok says, looking relieved. And then he gives me a really filthy look, because I guess he didn't like me beating up half of his precious X-Men by myself.

Well it's not like  _I_  shot first, shit.

"You started it," I hiss at him preemptively.

"You blew up a goddamn building," he retorts, gesturing towards the burning wreckage.

Yeah,  _so?_  I'm pretty damn proud of it, too.

"Why'd you blow up Stryker's lab, anyway?" Storm interjects. She's gotten to her feet and is helping Cannonball- who's also in not-so-hot shape- painfully get the Angel kid to stand up. "I thought him and the Brotherhood were buddies now?"

"They are," I reply.

"Then why-?"

"Those were  _people_ ," I snap impatiently. "They deserved better than what they got. I was trying to give them a little dignity on the way out."

All of them stare at me like I'm nuts.

"Why the hell would you care?" Warren demands. "All of you Brotherhood people think humans are scum."

"You don't know a damn thing about me," I retort, because it's true.

None of these X-Geeks know me, and they sure as hell will never understand me.

Or trust me, for that matter. I fed them information about Stryker, warned them about going into a building rigged to blow, and I've  _never_  attacked any of them unless they engaged me first. And  _still_  they try to paint me as the bad guy.

Whatever, I don't care. I don't have time to mope about being universally hated when I need to focus on taking out Stryker and maybe hamstringing the Brotherhood while I'm at it.

I sigh and shake my wrists. "Let me go, Beast."

Hank releases me, though I can sense his reluctance. He's probably already guessed my next move and is trying to think of a way to stop me without outing us to the others. Which means I better get a move on before he does.

I pull up my hood and start walking away.

"We're not done here," Havok sputters indignantly. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To hunt down Stryker," I reply, without looking back. "I owe him something."

Let them take that however they want to.

I just know I've gotta put a stop to Stryker's bullshit. His crazy-ass experiments make him the alpha and omega of the suffering of  _so_  many people, humans and mutants alike. I thought I was  _done_  with killing people, but it looks like I was wrong. I mean, I showed that bastard mercy at Alkali Lake and look what he turned around and did. He just switched from using mutants as toys to humans.

This  _has_  to end.

"Vivien!" Hank calls out.

Oh God.

I freeze, but I don't turn around.

Because to be honest... I'm scared to look at him. Hank makes me all soft and squishy inside with just his  _voice._  I can't afford that weakness. Not right now, when the rage within me is the only thing that's keeping me focused on my mission instead of falling to pieces.

"Vivien, no matter how you try to justify it to yourself, if you kill him now it's revenge," Hank says. "And that's- that's not who you are."

Is it, though? I honestly don't know anymore.

I wanted to believe in redemption, in hope that people can get better if they're shown another way, but that's not how the world works. I realize that now. And my friends paid the price.

My hands clench into fists as I start walking away.

_Sorry, baby. But I have to do this._

* * *

May 21, 1975

As pissed as I am, I don't go waltzing back into the Brotherhood arms without taking the time to come up with a plan on how to infiltrate the base and make it out alive. I've got no interest in dying today, thanks.

Instead I spend most of the day gathering supplies and whipping up a batch of C4 just in case I need a diversion. I arrive at the Brotherhood's base by late afternoon, ready to do some serious business.

My entry point is my old bedroom window just because it's practically guaranteed to be unoccupied. After all, there's no reason for anyone to be in there, right? And sure enough, the room is empty when I slip inside.

But I can't say that no one's been in here since I escaped. The furniture is completely thrashed- the mattress has claw marks in it, the dresser has been kicked in, and my bookcase is knocked over. The scarf Myles gave me for my birthday lies in pieces on the floor.

Well then. It looks like  _someone_  had a temper tantrum after I left. It doesn't hurt my feelings- if anything, this makes me laugh. Bashing in some furniture? Ripping up a mattress? That's all you got?

I might just have to show the Brotherhood what  _real_  destruction looks like. It's the least I can do after what they did to my friends.

The nice thing about being the one to install the security monitoring system here is that I know exactly which direction all of the lenses point. I'm not invisible to the cameras by any stretch, but I'm still able to move, knives at the ready, through the halls to the control room without incident. Luckily for me it's empty.

I keep a knife in my hand just in case as I try to get a read on everyone's locations, peering intently at the monitors. I don't want to keep walking around base completely blind if I can avoid it.

The lucky breaks keep on coming, man. The entire Brotherhood- the twins, my brothers, Magneto, and Mastermind- is currently having a team meeting in the common area. Meaning no one's guarding Stryker- assuming he's in that same room, anyway. It's too perfect an opportunity to pass up.

A deadly calm settles over me as I sneak over to the room they've been keeping that sick bastard in, like my emotions are so overwrought that I've just stopped feeling them. I'm glad for the numbness- I'm going to need it when I slit the fucker's throat. I still don't relish the thought of hurting another person, no matter  _what_  that guy's done.

I take a deep breath and open the door, fully ready to face my worst enemy and end this once and for all.

Or so I thought, anyway.

I come in expecting for Stryker to recognize me from Alkali Lake and immediately try to defend himself. Maybe try to raise an alarm if I don't take him out fast enough.  _Something,_  you know?

Instead I find Major William Stryker, military scientist and mutant/human torturer extraordinaire, sitting in a corner facing the wall and singing the goddamn  _Sesame Street_ theme song to himself. He doesn't even react to my entrance.

Are you fucking kidding me?

I roll my eyes and silently start forward-

"You like this show, don't you, Jason?" Stryker cheerfully asks of thin air. Uh, ok. "We'll watch this while Mommy makes breakfast, and then later-"

"What the fuck?"

He turns to look at me, frowning. "Please don't use that sort of language around my son," he tells me.  _Scolding_  me, really. "Who are you? How'd you get in my house?"

"Your house?" I repeat blankly. "Stryker, we're in the Brotherhood base."

He just looks puzzled.

Wow, he seriously doesn't understand where he is. And then acting like his kid is there? What's that about?

Oh my God, he's lost his fucking marbles. But how? Did Mastermind use his powers on this guy until he went bananas or what? It's the only reason that really occurs to me on why he's like this. But if that's the case, why did Mastermind do that to him?

None of this makes any sense.

_Well it's not like it matters,_ I tell myself _. You've got a job to do, remember? It's not revenge, no matter what Hank says. It's only so he stops hurting people..._

Right.

Stryker doesn't try to protect himself when I raise my knife to kill him. His gaze, which had been momentarily lost over my shoulder somewhere, now focuses on me again. A faint smile crosses his face. No fear at all.

Yup, clearly off his rocker.

I hate to admit it, but it's actually really...  _pitiful._  Like I'm about to kill Wilbur the pig or something. And the vacant expression is so reminiscent of Myles that it's downright eerie.

Myles, who is  _crazy_  because of this guy...

A shiver passes over me. I wanted karmic justice to come back around and bite Stryker in the ass  _so badly_  after what he did to my brother, and  _voila!_  Here it is, better than in a fucking Greek tragedy. Karma definitely dished this creep a doozy, didn't it?

Once upon a time I would've gotten a huge sense of viscous delight from the poetic symmetry of it all.

But now... I honestly just feel sick. All of this- Myles' problems, my friends dying, Stryker's apparent madness- it all arose from hatred breeding  _more_  hatred and pain. Humans hating mutants, mutants fighting back. Persecution on both sides, with no one's hands left clean. It's just a never ending circle of misery and revenge.

There  _has_  to be a way to stop the cycle. Who knows, maybe Stryker even  _tried?_

Because it occurs to me now that perhaps he's actually in this cuckoo state because he  _refused_  to help the Brotherhood and then Mastermind pushed him over the edge. Maybe Stryker never wanted to hurt Marcel and the others at all, and they mind-controlled him into doing it.

That would mean Stryker  _didn't_  throw away the shot at redemption I gave him. The Brotherhood did it for him.

I can't do this. I  _can't._

Goddammit, I'm officially going to go zero for two on killing this guy.

Because if I kill Stryker as he is now- this pitiful, insane version of him- knowing there's a chance that none of his actions were truly his choice, that he was mind-controlled and forced into it, then I'm no better than the rest of the Brotherhood. It's just destroying a puppet, a figurehead. That's not going to solve anything.

No, I've gotta go straight to the source.

The question is, how?


	78. How 'bout That?

**How 'bout That?**

"Look, Jason, it's Big Bird!" Stryker says cheerfully, facing the wall again. He seems to have forgotten that I'm standing here, back in his twilight world of nuttiness.

Aw man.

He's really messed up, isn't he? Completely bat shit crazy. And I honestly don't think I have it in me to leave him here to get tortured some more. No matter what he's done... it just wouldn't feel right to do that.

Jesus Christ. Who ever thought I'd take pity on  _Stryker,_  of all people, some day? As if I needed  _another_  reason to hate the Brotherhood, making me feel sorry for this sick bastard.

I've gotta take him with me, that's obvious. And to do that I'm going to need a diversion.

Oh, I'm so glad I brought C4!

The vague outline of a plan quickly forms in my head. A plan to figure out Magneto's crazy plot, and hopefully cripple the Brotherhood to the point where they might not be able to recover while I'm at it.

I don't say a word to Stryker before walking out on him. I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to say? "Sit tight and enjoy your imaginary episode of  _Sesame Street_  with your imaginary kid while I go blow some shit up? Be back for you later?"

So yeah, I don't even bother.

My first destination is the control room. I have a dual purpose here: one, to do a quick check on everyone's locations; and then two, to rig the room to blow to Kingdom come.

It's going to be epic.

Looks like everyone is still in the common area, which works just fine for me. The next step of this plan is going to be the most risky- going into Magneto's room, the lion's den itself.

I don't really have a choice though, you know? I have a feeling the Big Boss Man has some important files on the computer in his room, stuff he would hate for me to get my hands on. If I can transfer everything onto a floppy disk and get it to Hank he might be able to figure out how to throw a wrench into the Brotherhood's plans.

Wouldn't it be super if he could figure out a cure to whatever this mutagen serum thing is while he's at it? It's too late for my friends, of course, but maybe we can stop other people from dying the same way...

The memory of Marcel's blood-covered face floats behind my eyelids. And Johnny's little hands, cold as ice-

I choke back a sob.

_Come on, McCoy. Focus,_  I tell myself sternly.  _You're not allowed to fall apart now._

I failed to save my friends, but I refuse to let anyone else die like that. If I did... I'd feel like I  _helped_  kill them, you know?

Steeling myself, I quickly sneak through the halls to Magneto's room. The door is locked, but I pick it easily. Once I'm inside I re-lock it behind me and make a beeline for the computer I remember being in here on the night we played chess.

That night hurts to think about now. I was so cocky,  _so_  sure that love and friendship would win out against Magneto's mind-fuckery. Sure proved me wrong, didn't he? Even my own family turned on me because of him. I didn't think I could hate anyone more than I hate Stryker, but Magneto's really giving him a run for his money-

Ugh, I  _really_  need to stop that.

My mind keeps trying to pull in too many directions, all these feelings of betrayal and grief threatening to distract me from the task at hand. Jesus, you  _know_  you're fucked up when your own mood swings are giving you whiplash.

I boot up the computer and quickly copy every single file I can find onto a spare floppy disk that Magneto oh-so-thoughtfully left on the desk. I don't care if some of this shit is just grocery lists- I'm still taking it, just in case.

Once I've done that I pop open the machine and wipe the whole hard drive with my degaussing wand. It's the same tactic I used on that company's computers so many months ago, when Hank scolded me for going overboard and ruining innocent peoples' lives.

Somehow I highly doubt he would have the same reaction in this situation.

But then again, he's got  _plenty_  of reasons to be mad at me right now. I kinda ran off on him  _twice,_  and the second time I left him fully intending to go commit a murder. Saint Hank will definitely have his panties in a twist over that.

God, I've got  _a lot_  to make up for with him. Just because Hank's the forgiving type doesn't mean I should abuse that, you know? He deserves better than that.

I'm about to start screwing the panels back onto the computer when I hear the faint sound of a key turning in the lock.

Oh  _shit._

I react instinctively to the split second warning, using the knife I've kept in my hand-

The blade's already left my fingers when the door opens, and it nails Mastermind, handle first, right in the forehead before he even knows what hit him. He falls in an unconscious heap in the doorway, his face frozen in a shocked expression.

Alright, I'm not going to lie- that felt  _really_  good. Can you really blame me, though? After what this fucker did to me I kinda wish he would get up so I could knock his ass out again.

_Priorities, McCoy._

Yeah, yeah. Man, sometimes I'm a complete killjoy to  _myself._

But I can only assume that Mastermind came in here on Magneto's orders, which means that he's going to be missed sooner rather than later. It's definitely time to get a move on.

I hurriedly retrieve my knife and drag Mastermind the rest of the way into the room, shutting the door behind me so it doesn't look so suspicious. I replace the panels on the computer with a quickness, stick the floppy disk into my boot, and head for the door again.

And yeah, I totally step on that bastard a couple times on my way out.

I'm extra cautious as I sneak through the halls this time, just because I don't know if the Asshole Committee meeting is done for the night or not. I'd prefer not to leave a breadcrumb trail of unconscious people on my way back to Stryker's room.

Only the kitchen to get past now-

"D-do you really think Vivien will join the X-Men now?"

Peter's voice, coming from within the kitchen, freezes me in my tracks.

Crap.

"Dad really seems to think so," Wanda replies after a moment's hesitation. She sounds like she's trying to keep her tone neutral. "I wonder what changed? He seemed sure before that she wouldn't."

A pause.

"Well... can you really blame her if she does?"

"Peter-"

"We just stood there and  _let_  Mastermind work her over, Wanda," Peter interjects.

_You sure did, you big snitch. Some friends the two of you are,_  I think to myself bitterly.

"Well, she shouldn't have lied to us," Wanda retorts, but she doesn't sound all that convinced.

"We lied too."

"Yeah, but sneaking around to see Beast...?"

This time Peter's silence seems almost-  _sullen,_  I guess.

I have to hold back a derisive snort, listening to them try to justify this shit to themselves. Like I  _deserved_  what I got somehow, right? The truth is, if they  _really_  cared about me, they would've never let Mastermind try to fuck with my head. It's simple as that. Feeling sorta bad about it after the fact doesn't give the twins a free pass.

"Guess you can't really choose who you fall in love with, though," Wanda offers after a moment.

"Yeah," Peter agrees quietly. "I just... I miss her."

Well  _she_  doesn't miss  _you,_  that's for damn sure. Not when her friends are  _dead_  because of your big fucking mouth.

"Don't let Dad hear you saying that," his twin admonishes him quickly.

I roll my eyes. Because yeah, being terrified of your father is totally a healthy parent-child relationship. God, these two are so far up their dad's ass they wouldn't recognize the truth if it did the chicken dance in front of them naked. I tried to warn them though, you know?

Peter scoffs. "He's not here, though. They're all too busy messing with Stryker right now."

Ok, seriously? There are no words. I mean, "messing with?" Is that a new, casual way to describe the torture of a fellow sentient being? Jesus fucking Christ, man.

The blind trust in their dad's decision-making just blows my mind. If I was feeling more charitable right now I'd actually feel sorry for the twins. As it is, though, I just feel revolted by their apathy. Their indifference is getting innocent people killed, dammit.

"Yeah, but still..." Wanda murmurs.

They're quiet for a minute, long enough for me to start getting antsy. The longer I stay here the more the chances are that I get caught. I nailed Mastermind really good with that head shot, but I definitely don't want to hang out long enough for him to wake up.

Finally, one of them speaks. "Do you ever think sometimes that maybe-?" Wanda begins to ask, but then she cuts herself off.

I imagine them exchanging meaningful looks, their twin-speak or whatever.

"Let's go to your room," Peter offers after a second.

And then they're gone.

_Finally,_  jeez.

This time I'm able to make it back to the same hall as Stryker's room without further hold ups. From what Peter said it sounds like Magneto and my brothers are currently in there with Mr. Headcase, so I don't go bursting in or anything. Instead I pop into the room next to it and press my ear to the wall.

Yeah, I know. Eavesdropping  _again._

I immediately hear Magneto's voice. "-taking Mastermind so long," he says.

"Maybe the computer's giving him problems," one of my brothers offers- James, I think. "I don't trust those things."

Definitely James. His techno-phobic ass should go live in the eighteenth century or something where he belongs.

"Computers are the future, Fox," Magneto retorts in an icy tone. "A fact that your sister, for all her faults, understands."

Low growls from my brother, audible over the sound of pathetic sniffling- Stryker's, I'm guessing.

"My sister is a traitor," James hisses. "Not just to  _us,_  but to our kind with her little human pals-"

"Enough. I know it's not your strong suit, but  _think,_  won't you?" Magneto snaps disdainfully. Wow, sounds like someone pissed in his Cheerios today. "Anyone can use brute force-"

I picture him giving my brother a filthy, condescending look.

"-But finesse like hers is hard to come by," he continues. "And  _now,_  after your little  _stunt,_  she has all the incentive in the world to bring that to bear against  _us_."

Well then.

If I didn't hate the bastard so much I'd be flattered that he's actually scared of little ole me coming after him.

That's good. He  _should_  be.

"Sissy won't hurt us," Myles pipes up. His confident proclamation is followed by the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and then a squeal of pain from Stryker. My brother giggles insanely.

Oh God.

Now my skin is crawling, listening to him get some sort of sick pleasure out of hurting someone like that. It's one thing to know that my brothers kidnapped my friends and did such sick things to them, but to hear this shit firsthand?

_They're not my family,_ I tell myself fiercely. _After all of this my brothers are fucking_  dead _to me._

"Yeah," James agrees. "Vivien's too soft, boss. I know she seems tough, but she's probably curled up with the human-loving Fur Ball somewhere sobbing her eyes out over her lowlife buddies turning into mutants."

Funny how that manipulative dickhead Magneto knows me better than my own damn blood relations. Some family, right? Their poor estimation of me is downright offensive.

James continues, "so don't worry. She's not going to come after us."

Oh yeah? Wanna fucking bet?

Incensed, I pull out my detonator and push the trigger.

The sounds of a massive explosion reverberate across the base, rattling the walls even this far away worse than an earthquake tremor. I can hear glass breaking from a distance, and then a smaller, less destructive explosion goes off when the flames hit a newly broken gas line in the kitchen. Half the Brotherhood base- maybe even more- just went the way of the dinosaur.

_How 'bout that, boys?_


	79. Mission Accomplished

**Mission Accomplished**

"You were  _saying_?" Magneto demands fiercely, loud enough that I don't even need to press my ear to the wall to hear. He sounds absolutely livid.

Damn, he put that together quickly, didn't he? But I guess Mastermind's absence was making him suspicious already. And then an explosion that big is kinda my trademark at this point.

"Dammit. Come on!"

A second later the door to the next room noisily opens. I hear multiple sets of footsteps heading away, back towards the part of base that's now a fiery ruin.

Alright, time to grab Crazy Pants and get the hell out of here.

I slip out of the room and bolt over to Stryker's instead. The door's still wide open as I glance in-

_Sonuvabitch._

Myles is still in there, standing over Stryker. The scientist is curled up in the fetal position on the floor, sobbing. I guess this amount of fun and games was too absorbing for Myles to notice anything so trivial as an explosion.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

My brother's face lights up- just like usual- when he sees me, and for some reason that makes a tiny, miserable part of my heart bleed just a little bit. The familiar face and joyous expression are a mask for the twisted stranger underneath.

"Sissy, you're here!" he says excitedly. He starts forward, coming closer to where I stand in the doorway. "Did you see what we did for you? With your friends?"

Dear Lord. I feel too sick to my stomach to say anything.

Now he looks genuinely puzzled, only a few feet away from me. "What's wrong? You look-"

A snarl suddenly rips itself out of his throat, his face contorting with rage.

Uh oh.

"You've been marked!" he screams. "H-how could you  _do_  that to us?"

Shit- my scent. He can smell the change from Hank marking me as his mate.

Now this just goes to show  _again_  how deluded I've been about my family. Each time I think I've got the measure of them they do something to sink a little lower. James I might expect this from after all the crap lately, but Myles? I've always been his favorite sibling. Outside of his psychotic breaks he's never tried to hurt me.

That's why I'm a split second late in reacting to the knife that suddenly appears in his hand. He's already bringing it down in a stabbing motion before my stunned brain realizes what the fuck is happening.

Too late, I manage to dodge backwards with a snarl. Instead of going into my chest the blade cuts a jagged diagonal line across my stomach.

Oh shit. Oh  _shit._

I react instinctively to the searing agony across my abdomen, lashing out to defend myself. As Myles' arm finishes its downward sweep I step in and throw my elbow into his eye socket as hard as I possibly can. We both stumble apart from each other- him from the force of the blow, and me because the twisting motion makes me almost pass out from the pain.

Note to self: don't fucking do that again.

I press a hand to my stomach without looking down- I'm just too scared, ok? If I see my own intestines hanging out or whatever I'm going to completely lose my cool, and what good would that do for anyone? So nope, not looking.

The warmth already spreading across my fingertips is enough to tell me I'm in deep shit, anyway. I need to get out of here, and  _fast._

I pull one of my own knives and slam the handle into Myles' side, shoving past him into the room. He snarls and makes to grab me, but I slash at him with my knife, leaving a big gash on his face.

"Stryker," I snap as I battle with my brother, "get up."

The scientist ignores me and stays in the fetal position.

Goddammit. I just took a knife to the stomach trying to get him out of here and he's laying there like a piece of dirty laundry. Would it be too much to ask for him to help a bitch out?

And of course all the moving around is just making me bleed out even  _faster._  I'm running on pure adrenaline right now.

I bash my knife handle into Myles' kneecap as hard as I can, causing his leg to buckle sickeningly. After a moment he falls flat on his ass, clutching at his knee and yowling like a scalded cat.

That leaves me free to stumble over to Stryker, though I grab Myles' knife on the way. One knife wound is enough for me, thanks.

"Alright, time to go," I tell Stryker. I grab onto his arm and wrench him up into a sitting position. Thankfully he doesn't fight me. "Come on."

"I-"

"Move," I snarl, dragging him along. I'm sorry, but I don't have the fucking time or patience to be gentle right now. Apparently getting stabbed makes me grumpy.

Myles tries to stumble to his feet, but I avoid him easily. He's not going to be beating me in a footrace right now, thankfully.

I keep a good grip on Stryker's arm as I lead him out of the room, keeping my other hand on my stomach in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding.

"Come on," I urge the man, trying to push him into a faster pace than the reluctant walk he's moving at. "I'm taking you out of here, alright? No one's going to hurt you anymore."

Thankfully that makes him go a little quicker.

_Alright, McCoy,_ I tell myself _. You can do this. Get to the ground floor, break a window, get out and-_

"Myles!" I hear James call out from down the other hall. "Myles, is that you-?"

Oh for fuck's sake, man. Can I not catch a break or what?

I push Stryker behind me and pull the knife I stole from Myles. Looks like I'm going to have to fight my way by, then. Great.

"You!" James growls as soon as he rounds the corner, all outraged and shit. If I wasn't  _bleeding out_  right now I would've rolled my eyes over his hypocritical indignation. He takes a deep inhale, obviously sensing Hank's mark on me, and snarls. "How could you-?"

Well that's rich.

"Don't you dare," I hiss. I wish I had the strength to claw his fucking eyes out right here and now, so he would bleed the way Betty and the rest of my friends did. I'm not going to lie- the recent memory makes me borderline hysterical. "After what you did to those people, don't you fucking dare say  _anything_  to me!"

His face twists into a sadistic smile. "Don't like them so much now that they're not human, huh?" he sneers.

"'Not human?' They're  _dead,_  you asshole!" I shriek.

He shrugs dismissively.

That's the moment where I  _completely_  lose my shit. Right now I don't care that I'm injured- I just want to make James experience just an  _ounce_  of the pain I'm feeling.

An unrecognizable, enraged sound comes out of my throat as I charge right at my brother. He's not expecting such a direct, half-crazed (alright, maybe  _full_ -crazed _)_  attack from me, so my kick lands right in his diaphragm.

James stumbles slightly, gasping, but I keep coming after him like a little blonde rage-monster, screaming my head off.

It's only when I hear Myles stumbling down the hall towards us that I finally come back to my senses. Mostly.

"Fox, I'm coming!" he calls out, hopping along on one leg.

James tries to use my moment of distraction against me, but I duck his hold and stab him in the thigh with Myles' knife, twisting the blade in for good measure as he howls in pain and fury.

I pull back and reach over to grab Stryker again, who's been standing there cowering in fear the whole damn time. Seriously, the guy is about as helpful as a piece of luggage.

"Let's go," I say through my teeth.

All the noise is going to draw the rest of the Brotherhood on us at any second, so rather than trying to run through base I take the quick exit: the window right behind James.

Oh, this is going to suck.

I throw Myles' knife at the glass, shattering it.

"No!" James snarls, but with his leg so injured he can't dodge when I dig my heel into his wound and propel myself and Stryker by him.

"Out you go," I tell the (literally) mad scientist.

I throw him out of the second story window first. I realize about halfway down that my legs are too weak to support me in a graceful landing, so I end up breaking my fall on Stryker.

What? It's about damn time he did something useful, shit.

"Come on," I urge, forcing him to stand up again.

He trots along passively as I lead him back to my Honda, stumbling and feeling the blood trickle between my fingers as I go. How much blood have I lost? How much more can I afford to lose? I'm definitely getting weaker, but what other choice do I have besides pushing forward and getting us out of here?

When we get to the car I lean against it for a moment to catch my breath. "I don't suppose- you could drive?" I ask Stryker.

He blinks at me owlishly.

"Of course not," I mutter, opening the back door. "Just get in, will you?"

Once he's obeyed I get in the driver's seat and take off as fast as I can. A glance in the rear view mirror shows me that half the Brotherhood base is still on fire.

The sight, coupled with Stryker in the back seat and the floppy disk in my boot, makes me giggle maniacally. Maybe because the blood loss is making me loopy, I don't know. It doesn't matter though, does it?

"Mission accomplished," I murmur.

* * *

I'm not laughing anymore once the adrenaline from my suicide raid wears off.

The blood loss and pain are making my brain all fuzzy, so it's hard to focus as I sit hunched over the steering wheel. At first Stryker sits in the back humming to himself, but it's the same three notes over and over again so after a while I snap at him to knock it off. After that he's silent.

_What I'd do for Hank's briefcase first aid kit right about now. Shit, what I'd do for Hank himself_ , I think to myself after I slip off my cloak and press it against my stomach. It's the only thing I have that might help staunch the bleeding, and it doesn't work all that well. Now I just feel colder than I ever have before in my life, again probably because I'm losing so much blood.

After a while I fall into this sort of half-conscious state, kinda like I'm operating on autopilot or something. Unfortunately my autopilot default setting seems to be to go to my safe house, because I'm already almost there by the time I snap out of it.

Crap.

My safe house is not exactly the most  _helpful_  of destinations, if you know what I mean. A better place would've been- oh, I don't know-  _Xavier's,_  a.k.a. the place that has not only an infirmary, but also a  _doctor_  who loves me and will want to stop me from fucking  _bleeding to death_. Seriously, what was I thinking, coming here?

Guess I wasn't, is the answer to that question. Thanks, exsanguination brain fog!

_Come on, McCoy. Get it together_.  _Ok. Ok, focus._

Since I probably won't be in the shape to be making explanations by the time I reach Xavier's I decide to dump Stryker here rather than just popping up with him in tow. With that in mind I coax him upstairs and into my apartment. He immediately goes over and sits cross-legged next to my bed, looking up at me like a little kid. Not  _on_  the bed,  _next_  to it.

Alright then.

"Ok, Stryker," I tell him. "I need you to stay in here, alright? Don't open the door for anyone and don't touch anything, you got it?"

He just stares at me.

I roll my eyes and walk out. I don't have time to draw him a fucking picture right now, ok?

If you asked me how I make it to Xavier's without crashing, I honestly wouldn't be able to tell you. I start missing pieces of time, like I'm having mini-blackouts, and when I  _am_ fully conscious it's hard to see past the spots in my vision.

_You can't die yet,_ I tell myself over and over again at first. _Imagine what it would do to Hank if you died. You can't, you_  can't-

But like a fat kid's willpower at a buffet line, my determination drains away as I get weaker and less lucid. My thoughts go from  _"you can't let yourself die, McCoy,"_  to  _"for Christ's sake, just don't give up the ghost until you get that floppy disk to Hank."_

By the time I make it to Xavier's I'm running on pure stubbornness, I guess. If I have to go, I want to be sure the X-Men have the means to defeat the Brotherhood on my way out. And I just  _refuse_  to die without seeing Hank one more time, dammit.

I keep that thought close as I stumble across the grounds and climb the wall to his window. Just one last glimpse, that's all I want. At least that way he knows what happened to me, instead of being left wondering, without closure.

At this point I'm so gone it's a struggle to undo the simple window sash. It makes me want to cry, because I can see Hank sitting on his bed, head in hands, and if only-

He turns and sees me just as I finally get the window open. He sprints over just in time to awkwardly catch me in his arms when I collapse, like getting the glimpse I wanted so desperately was the signal for my body to officially give up.

"Vivien?" Hank sounds frantic as he half lays me on the floor. I feel him gently touch my cheek. "Vivien- my stars and garters, darling, what-?"

I focus on his anxious face. His big blue eyes are wide with panic. "Hi," I whisper pathetically. "I think- I think I need some help, baby."

Understatement.

"Where's the wound?"

"Stomach," I reply, grimacing. "Knife-"

"I've got you," he promises, and I feel him stand up with me in his arms.

_I know you do baby. God, I love you,_  I want to say, but my lips aren't working anymore.

"Hold on, love."

_Trying..._


	80. Time to Face the Music

**Time to Face the Music**

_Ow. Fucking_  ow.  _Mother fucker-_

A string of expletives goes off in my head as I become aware of the pain spread across my abdomen, a dull, throbbing ache that makes my breath come out as a hiss. A heart rate monitor nearby reacts to my stress, its beeps becoming more frantic.

I instinctively try to readjust my body in an attempt to find a position that's less agonizing, but no dice. I can't move much because of the heavy stiffness across my stomach- bandages, I realize after a moment. And then I'm aware of a faint pulling beneath that. Stitches, maybe? Whatever, it  _hurts._

Which means-

Holy shit, I'm alive.

I'm  _alive._

The heart rate monitor calms as I let the revelation wash over me. God bless him, Hank somehow managed a miracle and brought me back from certain death. Just add the word "hero" to the list of things that man is to me.

Oh, I get to see him again! My last sight on earth  _won't_  be his panicked, frightened face- a panic  _I_  put there because of my crazy, life-threatening shenanigans. I get a chance to apologize to him, to make up for all the shit I've put him through in the past. Not just the last few days, but everything before as well.

Thank God.

It's not until I hear a familiar set of footsteps approaching that I realize that up until now I've been  _alone,_  wherever I am. The mansion's infirmary would be a safe bet. But what gives? You can call me conceited if you want to, but I'm kinda hurt that Hank wasn't waiting at my bedside for me to wake up. Maybe after patching me up so many times in the past he's gotten kinda used to it?

Yup,  _so_  much shit for me to make up for.

I open my eyes and immediately see Hank entering the room in a hurry, like he was running. His Beast form doesn't hide his obvious anxiety and fear.

"H-hank?"

He bolts over and collapses to his knees next to the hospital bed I'm on. His expression immediately morphs into one of profound relief as he gently takes my hand and kisses it.

"Vivien," he breathes, "h-how do you feel, darling?"

I try to grin. "Like I got stabbed," I reply dryly.

"You did? How did I miss that?" Hank asks, just as sarcastic. He pretends to peer down at my heavily bandaged stomach, covered by my blood-soaked camisole. Yuck.

His feigned ignorance makes me smile.

At first he grins too, that beautiful smile of his that  _still_  manages to give me butterflies even though I recently almost got gutted like a fish. But then the light-hearted expression fades and the concern comes flooding back. "How did this happen, Vivien?" he asks. "Did Fox get you?"

I shake my head. "Myles," I reply. "I went- back to base-"

Hank groans in exasperation. "Why?"

"Looking for Stryker," I tell him sheepishly. His disapproving frown tells me just what he thinks of  _that._  I grin at him, trying to butter him up a little. "If you're going to scold me, you- you might as well get on with it, baby."

God knows I deserve it. And then some.

Hank takes a deep, calming inhale through his nose before he lets me have it. "Don't you ever do this to me again," he says sternly, clutching at my hand. "We're married now, Vivien. We're supposed to be a  _team,_  and you took off on a suicide mission alone. You almost  _died._  Do you understand what would happen if I lost you? I-"

"Oh, come on," I tease half-heartedly. "With you- taking care of me, I couldn't die if I tried."

The joke falls flat with him. "That doesn't mean you should risk your life like that," he snaps.

"I know," I sigh, guiltily shifting my eyes. I feel  _so_  bad, because the only reason Hank's pissed is because I didn't allow him the chance to help me, to  _protect_  me. That's all he wants, to keep me safe. I'm such a crummy mate, man. "I'm sorry."

And I really  _am_  sorry. I'm just so used to operating alone that I didn't even think to ask Hank for help until it was almost too late.

I realize now that I can't think like that anymore, because I'm not  _alone_  anymore. Me and Hank are a team now, a unit. What happens to one of us happens to both. It's time to start acting like it.

"Promise me, love," Hank pleads, his sunset eyes burning intensely. "Promise me you won't run off on me like this again."

"I promise," I murmur sincerely. "I give my word that- from now on it's me and you against the world, Hank."

"Thank you," he says.

He leans in to kiss me, and I swear to God, for a moment I don't hurt  _anywhere_  anymore.

"I love you," I whisper, brushing my hand across his face.

Hank places his hand over mine, pressing my palm to his cheek. "I love you," he replies. He nuzzles my nose with his, and for a minute we just stay like that, basking in the togetherness.

That's how we're sitting when Professor X and Havok enter the room.

_Oh shit._

I pull away and try to snatch my hand back from Hank's face, but he holds it there.

"It's too late, Vivien," he murmurs. "They already know."

For fuck's sake, man.

I guess I'm looking pretty accusatory, because he grumbles defensively, "it wasn't me. Erik and your brothers showed up here and outed us. I think it's time to just come clean."

Well shit. I'm not sure what's scarier, my brothers and Magneto popping up at the mansion or these two X-Men now knowing about us. Talk about forcing our hand, right? We don't have a choice anymore.

Time to face the music.

Hank rises to his feet and takes a breath when the other two reach us. Both of them look confused and wary.

"Charles, Alex," my mate says, taking my left hand in his. "Allow me to formally introduce you to Vivien McCoy." He turns my hand so his ring is super visible. "My wife."

Dead silence.

Charles and Havok look between us incredulously, like they're expecting one of us to start laughing and say, "just kidding." Talk about a terrible joke, right?

Finally, the Professor speaks. "Um... perhaps it would be best if you started at the beginning, yes?" he suggests, his expression closed.

"It's a long story," Hank mutters.

"We're a captive audience," Havok retorts. "Trust me, I'd  _love_  to hear this."

_Why_  am I not surprised over his reaction?

Hank glances at me helplessly, but I've got nothing for him. I fucking  _told_  him this would happen, you know?

He sighs in defeat and sits on a stool next to the bed. "I suppose it started in Paris," he says after a moment's thought. "For me, anyway. Vivien is the girl who cut me down from that fountain Erik stuck me on, did you know that?"

Both X-Men shake their heads, their gaze shifting to me now.

"I was hunting Stryker," I explain. "He had my brother. I helped Hank because..."

I try to shrug, but that ends up hurting like a sonuvabitch.

"Don't move," Hank scolds gently when I hiss in pain.

_Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious._

I stick my tongue out at him.

"Anyway," he continues, with a hint of a smile. "It was upsetting to find out that my savior was now part of the Brotherhood when we next met- especially after she used my hesitation to fight her against me."

He looks at me.

"I wanted to hate you for that."

"I don't blame you," I murmur. "I wanted to hate you after the night you called me out for going overboard with that company's computers, because I think part of me knew you were right. I thought at first you were just this  _holier-than-thou_  prick who got off on telling people they were wrong, but... I watched you after that."

Hank grins. "I watched you, too."

"I realized that you didn't just talk the talk. You were actually  _good,_  through and through."

"And I realized that you weren't like the rest of the Brotherhood. I didn't understand why it mattered to me so much, that you were different, but it did. I suppose I hoped that the girl from Paris was still in there somewhere."

I smile at him, because I don't think he realizes how much he helped that girl see the light of day again. "And then Alkali Lake happened."

"Yes," Hank agrees. "I'm sorry, Charles, but I lied to you when I said I didn't see Vixen at Alkali Lake. The truth is, Stryker captured us and imprisoned us together. We- we got to know each other over the next few days and Vivien saved my life several times, so when she asked me to pretend she wasn't there I agreed."

The Professor's expression remains inscrutable, which I can tell unnerves Hank. He looks at me,  _begging_  for a hand now.

Aw man.

I give it my best shot. "Hank told me about the school while we were stuck there," I offer. "Since then, I haven't really been able to see you guys as enemies. Maybe you're a little soft sometimes, but you mean well. I didn't like to admit it, but the stuff he said about the Brotherhood was right, too."

I swallow painfully past the sudden lump in my throat.

"I couldn't just walk away from them, but I couldn't forget about Hank, either. Something about him..." My face heats up at the thought of telling the saintly Professor X how badly I wanted to jump his best friend's bones. Talk about  _awkward._  So instead I add, "it was hurting us both, to want each other so much and not be able to be together. So I tried to tell him to stay away from me..."

"And then she was wounded and brought here," Hank murmurs. "We tried to fight it, but neither of us could deny how we felt anymore. I asked her to stay with me."

"I wanted to, baby, but I was afraid of what would happen if I did. And I wasn't ready to give up on my brothers yet- for all the good  _that_  did me," I mutter bitterly. "We've been seeing each other secretly ever since."

I sigh.

"I know I don't deserve a chance with you guys, Professor. Hell, I didn't deserve a chance with  _him_ ," I say wistfully. Shit, I  _still_  don't. "But that's the thing about Hank- he loves you with all he has, even when you haven't earned it. And you know you don't deserve something so pure and beautiful, but he- he makes you want to  _try_."

I'm suddenly aware of a faint pressure in my mind- Professor X, I realize, trying to take a peek. Rather than trying to shut him out I try to open myself to the intrusion, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me. I want him to see how sincere I am, even though it goes against every self-preserving instinct I have.

Whatever he sees in my thoughts, it seems to convince him. Because after a minute or two Charles smiles gently and whispers, "I know the feeling."

Yeah, I guess he would, wouldn't he? Considering what he put Hank through in the past and all.

Havok isn't buying it, though. "Ok," he interposes briskly, frowning at the older man. "We get it. You two are a regular Romeo and Juliet. Now I want to know how you ended up here with the Brotherhood on your tail."

"That's another long story," I reply evasively. God, I'll never forgive myself if I start crying in front of this bastard.

"Still got time," Havok retorts. "And I think we deserve to know, considering that we're now protecting your ass from Magneto behind Beast's nice, shiny fence out there."

"That's a little harsh," Hank interjects.

"No, he's right," I say. "Hank-"

"I've told you before, Vivien, we're safe," he says, already anticipating my protest. "They can't touch anyone here."

I let out a long, slow sigh- and then wince because the deep breath pulls at my stitches. Goddammit. "Alright," I murmur. "Fine. Those people in that laboratory I blew up last night? They were my friends. Some homeless folks I've been trying to help out in Hell's Kitchen. When my brothers found out about Hank they snatched them up and gave them over to Stryker to experiment on-"

I choke back a sob and squeeze my eyes shut. No no no-

"To punish me, for loving Hank. My friends died because of  _me_."

"If you place blame on yourself, give me my share as well, Vivien," Hank says firmly. "You weren't alone in this secret relationship."

"Yeah but if I'd never started going there in the first place-"

"Which you might not have done had I not put it in your head to show humans that we're not the monsters in their closets," he retorts. "We can go back and forth on blame for this until we get to biblical times, darling. It's not your fault."

"Just your crazy-ass brothers'," Havok mutters.

I guess twenty-two years of habit is hard to break, no matter what James and Myles have done to me. It's still automatic for me to try to defend them- talk about crazy, right? "Fuck you, Fry-Boy," I snarl defensively. "You have no idea-"

"Vixen," Charles interjects. "Vivien, I mean. Please, continue with your story."

_You know, I don't think I like English people. The politeness weirds me out._


	81. Now and Always

**Now and Always**

I purse my lips and nod sullenly, still annoyed with Havok. He can keep being surly all he wants to, because I  _promise_  that I can do it better.

"After I left that lab I headed back to base to do some snooping and find Stryker. I managed to get the files on their computer and then wipe it completely. They probably have another set somewhere else, but at least it's something. I brought this for you-"

I try to reach down to my boots, but that just pulls at my stitches.  _Ow._

"Easy," Hank gently urges.

"That's going to get old  _really_  fast," I mutter.

He grins fondly. "Which shoe, sweetheart?"

"Left one."

Hank reaches down and pulls the floppy disk out of my boot, holding it up for the others to see.

"I suppose that's why Erik wanted to know whether you made it here alive," Charles observes.

"Part of it, anyway," I reply smugly. It might come back to bite me later, but for now the idea of Magneto and my brothers chasing after me and then ending up at the Institute's fence like wolves in the cold kinda tickles me pink. I sure showed them, didn't I? "I managed to get Stryker, too."

"'Get' him how?" Hank asks suspiciously.

I roll my eyes and sigh. "I thought about killing him, once I found him," I admit. "But he was just too pitiful, and I couldn't do it."

"Pitiful?"

I nod. "I found him in a little room, facing the corner and talking to himself. The best I can figure is Mastermind pushed him too hard and made him go completely cuckoo for cocoa puffs."

"Where is he now?" Charles queries.

I glance at Hank and hesitate.

He reads the answer in my reluctance. "I know where he is," he tells the other two. "The question is, how to go get him with the Brotherhood on alert and probably watching us?"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Charles assures him.

"How'd you get hurt, Vivien?" Hank asks. "You said Jackal-?"

"Once I figured out where Stryker was, I knew I needed a diversion," I explain. "I can get around without being seen just fine alone, but with him it just wasn't going to work. So I blew up half the base-"

Hank groans. "Just add that to the growing list of reasons Erik wants you dead," he mutters.

"It's getting longer, isn't it?" I tease, grinning wryly for a moment. "But anyway, that distracted everyone else, but not Myles. He caught me as I was trying to lead Stryker out. As soon as he got wind of the change in my scent he-"

"Your scent?" Havok asks.

"Um, it's a feral thing," Hank replies awkwardly. His cheeks flush purple in embarrassment, probably at the thought of explaining how ferals mate to his friends. I roll my eyes- he's such a prude. "Go on, sweetheart."

"Myles went nuts and knifed me," I explain. "That got James' attention, of course. I managed to push them back enough that I could jump out of a window and escape."

"And Stryker?"

"I threw him out first and he broke my fall," I say. He gives me a disapproving frown, so I feel obligated to defend myself. "What? I took a knife in the gut trying to get him out of there. Can we agree he owed me one?"

He's got no answer for that.

For a few minutes all three of them are silent, digesting my story. I notice that Hank is watching the other two closely, like he's hoping for some clue on their thoughts.

Finally, Havok speaks.

"Look, I believe that you're not part of the Brotherhood anymore," he says slowly. "But I want to know the real reason you left. Was it because you've changed your mind, or just because you wanted Hank?"

"Alex-"

"No, Charles, seriously," the blonde argues. "She was sneaking out to see him, she got caught, and her brothers killed her friends for it. Any of that sound like a  _real_  change of heart to you?" He focuses on me. "Well?"

A change of heart? I wouldn't exactly call it that. I mean, I realize now that violence isn't the answer to getting humans to respect mutants, but it's not like I was going around hurting people indiscriminately before.

"Look... I love Hank," I say sincerely, "but I've actually never believed in mutant superiority like the rest of the Brotherhood. I thought at first that what we were doing would somehow help us gain equality with humans, but Hank basically showed me how deluded that was. I think I would've figured it out on my own eventually, though, especially with the stuff they've been doing lately. Honestly, the only reason I stayed so long was for my brothers..."

I sigh.

Because I hate to admit it, but considering my weakened, injured state I know I need help to get this done. And if that means joining the X-Geeks, so be it. Desperate times, and all that.

Aw man.

It looks like Hank might get his way after all.

"I can tell you I wouldn't have tried to approach you guys if it weren't for Hank, but I want the same thing you do. To stop Magneto so he can't make things worse for us," I explain. "It's been a long time coming, but this was just the final straw."

"You've never belonged with the Brotherhood, Vivien," Hank adds quietly.

I snort. "So you've said," I mutter. Like, a hundred times. "But I don't know if I belong with the X-Men, either." I meaningfully glance over at Charles and Havok. "They're too nice to toss out a wounded girl who brought them some choice intel on their enemies, but actually wanting me to  _stay_ -"

"Oh, I think we can put that question to rest," the Professor cuts in, waving his hand dismissively. "You're welcome here, Vivien. Our doors are always open to someone looking to start over."

"Even a former Brotherhood member?" I press suspiciously.

He nods, his expression sincere. "You've clearly reformed. And as for Hank..."

Uh oh.

Hank stiffens.

"You are my oldest, dearest friend," Charles says. "You stood by me when no one else did, even when it all seemed hopeless. I can't say I'm not hurt that you lied to me, but I also understand why you did." He smiles gently. "Love can make us do crazy things sometimes. And besides, it seems to have worked out for the best, don't you think?"

If he means me turning traitor and completely fucking over the Brotherhood, then yeah, you could say that.

"I want you to be happy, and I won't let this come between us," he concludes. "I forgive you, Hank."

Hank lets out a loud exhale. "Thank you, Charles."

Aw. Is it time for a group hug?

I kinda doubt it- neither man seems to be all that demonstrative towards each other. Their friendship is more based on a profound respect and quiet support, as opposed to slaps on the back and bro hugs or whatever.

"Now, I think it would be best if Vivien got some rest," Charles announces. Back to knowing what's best for everyone, I see. "Alex, if you come with me we can take a look at the contents of that disc. Hank, mind your patient for now. I think it would be safer to wait for daylight before retrieving Stryker."

Hank tries to nod nonchalantly, but I can tell he's eager to be alone with me now. Well, likewise. The others aren't fooled, either, because Havok smirks at him and Charles seems both happy for us and amused.

The second they're gone I sag back against the pillows like a limp noodle. "Did that really just happen?" I whisper.

Like, seriously. Professor X and Havok are not only cool with me being here, they also want me to join the X-Men? Oh,  _and_  they've forgiven Hank for sneaking around with me? It seems like I've stepped down a rabbit hole or something, you know?

"I think so," Hank replies, just as shocked.

I let out a huff of disbelief and hold out my arms for him. After everything that happened today I don't think a hug would be too much to ask for, do you?

He smiles and stands, leaning over to embrace me, bloodstains and all-

"Hold up," I say sheepishly, gesturing to myself. I'm still in my ripped up jumpsuit (it looks like Hank pretty much cut off the top to get to my wounds) and my blood-soaked camisole. "On second thought, I'm not exactly cuddle-worthy right now, baby."

"I can fix that," Hank assures me.

He carefully helps me out my clothes- which unfortunately isn't as sexy as it sounds, thanks to the mummy impression I'm doing across my entire torso- with tender care. For lack of anything else he slips out of his shirt and puts it on me so I'm at least semi-decent. And then by Hank laying on his side he manages to squeeze onto the bed with me.

Being in Hank's arms... for the first time since finding the empty alleyway in Hell's Kitchen I feel myself relax a little. Holy shit, has it really been less than forty-eight hours? Because I feel like I've aged a hundred fucking years in the mean time.

When Hank reaches up to caress my face I close my eyes and press my face into his palm. I'm not sure if I deserve this comfort after what happened to my friends because of me, but I really can't help responding to his tenderness.

_A team_ , he called us.

Doesn't that mean I can rely on him to be my strength when I've got nothing left?

Because I'm at that point, man. I feel like my body got ran over by a bus a couple times while my heart got put through an old-fashioned hand crank press. My friends dying, being ready to kill Stryker and chickening out  _again,_  my brothers coming within a hair's breadth of offing me...

After everything that happened over the past couple days, I'm  _done._

I let out a sigh of defeat.

"Sleep, darling," Hank murmurs, brushing a claw through my bangs. "It's going to be ok now."

"I'm afraid to go to sleep," I whisper, because maybe if I say it quietly it won't sound so fucking weak.

I shudder against the images floating before my eyes again. Now that I have no immediate mission to focus on they rise up from the dark corner I stuffed them into, springing back to the forefront of my thoughts where I can't escape them anymore. I'm sure sleeping would only make it worse.

"I'm afraid that I'll see all of them again," I admit. "They had blood pouring out of their eyes, their mouths- pretty much every orifice, Hank. Jesus Christ, it was like a fucking horror movie. A lot of them coughed up chunks of their own internal organs. It was-" I choke back a sob. "And then Mr. Cole was still alive when I found him. Whatever they gave him made it so he could see again before it killed him. And right before he died he told me- he told me he always  _knew_  I was pretty, from my voice-"

And that's when I completely fall apart. I just can't hold myself together anymore and start bawling my goddamn eyes out.

Fuck, I  _hate_  crying in front of people. Well ok- I hate crying in general, but having an audience makes it even worse. To give you an idea of how long it's been, I think I still had parents the last time I broke down in front of someone else. And to have it be your new husband that you're making snot bubbles in front of? Ugh.

Most guys would get super uncomfortable or just flat out run for the hills in this circumstance, but Hank isn't most guys. He doesn't even try to hush me or anything. He just holds me and lets me get it all out, even though I'm sure he's hurting over our friends being taken so cruelly, too.

My brothers did that just to get back at me, for loving Hank. And then they tried to kill me...

I  _hate_  them now, just as much as they clearly hate me. There's nothing else left anymore. So isn't it crazy that I'm so torn up over this? It's not even just that they hurt me so badly with their vindictiveness that I'm upset over. It's more that in a way to me it's like they  _died._

"They're really lost, aren't they?" I croak after I've cried myself dry.

"I wouldn't say that, sweetheart," Hank replies soothingly. "I want to believe they found peace."

I snuffle. "No, I meant my brothers."

He hesitates. Like he  _wants_  to say that redemption is still possible, but can't say it in good conscience. Jesus. You  _know_  it's bad when even an eternal optimist like Hank writes you off.

"Yeah, I think so too," I murmur. "I lost them the second we joined the Brotherhood. Once Magneto got a hold of them it was all over. It just... it just took this happening for me to realize it."

I bury my face in Hank's chest as another sob rips through me. "I don't have a family anymore, Hank," I whisper. But then a realization hits me. I pull away to meet his gaze with mine. "No, that's not true, is it?  _You're_  my family now. Right?"

"Yes," Hank replies, leaning down to kiss me sweetly. "Now and always, Vivien."


	82. Seeing the Real Me

**Seeing the Real Me**

May 22, 1975

Hank holds me close as I finally quiet down. He even starts purring for me, a soft, basso rumble that eventually lulls me into an exhausted sleep.

I wake up a few hours later feeling like complete shit. Just as I feared, all the new nightmare fuel my brain had waiting in the wings took center stage as soon as I fell asleep. Fun times.

Hank's sitting next to the bed when I wake up, looking fresh as a daisy. The bastard.

I groan inwardly at the prospect of his maniacal morning cheer in my emotionally-hungover state. Forgive me for not being all that chipper after my friends being murdered and almost dying, alright? And then my eyes feel all puffy and awful from the crying. Ugh.

"'Morning," Hank murmurs softly when I open my eyes.

"Hi," I croak. Jesus, between the voice and my eyes I could probably double for a toad right now.

"Here, I got you some water," Hank says, offering me a glass from the bedside table.

I take it eagerly, letting the cool water soothe my abused throat. "Thanks, baby," I tell him after a few sips. "So... what's the plan for today?"

Please tell me it involves me holing up in your room with a big bowl of ice cream. For medicinal purposes, you know?

"Well, when you feel you're ready, Charles wants to introduce you to the rest of the team and explain the situation to them," my mate says carefully.

Now that sounds  _awful._

"They're not going to be happy about this, Hank," I point out.

"Probably not," Hank agrees. "Not at first anyway. But just be yourself and they'll come around, Vivien."

Oh for Christ's sake,  _a_ _gain_  with the blind optimism. Does he  _not_  remember the other night? I took out almost the whole team when they attacked me. I pretty much  _embarrassed_  all of them. I don't see that being forgiven easily.

I roll my eyes. "'Just be yourself?' Now I know why you got beat up so much in school," I mutter.

"Thanks, darling," he replies acidly.

"Oh, come on, I was just kidding," I assure him. I give him a winsome smile to get him to stop pouting. But then I reluctantly admit, "I'm- I'm a little scared, Hank."

Not that they'll hurt me- Hank and Charles won't allow that. But I'm scared of the inevitable shit storm when the rest of the X-Men find out about me and Hank. Havok got over it, but the rest? How are they going to react to that? I'm not exactly looking forward to finding out.

"Don't be," Hank tells me. He reaches out and takes my hand. "Everything's going to be alright, I promise."

He seems so sincere and sure that I allow his certainty to sway me. Sorta, anyway. I mean, it's not like I'm in any shape to take off or something. I mostly give in because I know I don't really have a choice.

"Alright, fine," I say grimly. "But can I at least go to the bathroom before you feed me to the wolves?"

* * *

I'm not going to lie- I'm not above purposely wasting time to put off my date with disaster. I do my damnedest to dawdle and distract Hank, who's helping me clean up and put on real clothes because I'm such a mess.

"I wonder what someone would've done if they opened up the dryer and found these in with your things?" I tease, holding up a set of my panties that Hank laundered the other night. God, could he get any  _more_  perfect? He even does laundry! "A keepsake from a one night sand, or-?"

"Just put them on, Vivien," Hank says quickly, his cheeks turning faintly purple. He's still adorably shy about nudity.

"I would, but I can't really bend over right now, can I?" I retort. Hello, huge gash across my torso here?

He sighs. "Good point."

I grin mischievously and place my hands on his shoulders when he kneels down to help me. Feigning innocence, I immediately start to run my claws along his scalp and neck because I know it turns him on.

Hank looks up at me helplessly. "You're wounded," he says, but he doesn't sound all that convincing.

"We can improvise," I reply. I provocatively stroke his inner thigh with my foot. He's got a thing about my feet- not a weird foot fetish or anything, but he definitely likes them. I have a feeling it's because he's so self-conscious of his own.

His eyes darken, and his hands reach up to trace under my breasts, along my sides. Even though I was really only teasing him to prevaricate the team meeting from hell, my body still instinctively reacts to my mate's caresses. I shiver and melt just a little-

Hank's hands stop roaming and move to rest on my waist. He kisses the minuscule portion of my stomach that's  _not_  covered in bandages. "When you're healed," he tells me firmly.

I pout, because seriously, we were just getting the party started. "You're no fun."

"So you've said before. Now stop stalling, Vivien," he scolds. Aw man, he's on to me.

I scowl at him. "Fine."

* * *

"Alright," Hank murmurs once I'm settled back on the hospital bed. "Ready?"

"No," I reply sullenly.

He snorts and then gets this expression of faraway concentration on his face for a moment. "There. Charles is coming and telling the others to meet us down here as soon as they can."

"Oh, yay."

Hank gives me a mildly reproving look.

I stick my tongue out at him and decide to change the subject, because I'd rather not think about what's coming. "You were speaking to Charles telepathically just now?" I ask curiously.

"Yes. I suppose it's comparable to mentally 'shouting' for him, in a way. Pointedly thinking his name catches his attention," Hank muses. "He tries to be discreet about his powers, but..."

"Speak of the devil and he doth appear?"

"After a fashion."

I hear the soft whirl of Charles' wheelchair approaching and smother a giggle. Impeccable timing.

Sure enough, a moment later the telepath enters the infirmary. His expression becomes puzzled when he looks at Hank.

Uh oh, does he know we were talking about him? Oh, of course he does. He's a fucking telepath. Duh.

"What's wrong?" Hank asks as he approaches.

"Nothing's wrong, really. I'm just surprised you're still blue, is all," Charles replies, gesturing towards Hank.

Hank literally does a double-take on his own furry hand-feet, like he actually forgot that he was in his Beast form. I assume he shifted to give me a blood transfusion last night and never turned back.

"I don't get why you use your serum when you're home, anyway," I comment. Hiding from humans I get, but around other mutants? Wouldn't it be nice to  _not_  have to keep a tight leash on his emotions at home?

He winces. "I don't like being the freak among the freaks," he says quietly, avoiding my eyes. "I hate the idea of the children here being afraid of me. Even a monster has feelings."

Hold up now.

" _'Monster?'_ " I scoff. "What are you talking about? Hank, look at me."

I tug at his sleeve insistently until he relents and sits down on the bed's edge. I cup his face between my hands and kiss him full on the mouth. I know Charles is watching but he can fucking deal with it.

"The man I love is no monster," I tell Hank firmly. "You got it?"

I think my steely expression scares him into not arguing. "Yes, ma'am," he agrees weakly, kissing me again. He pulls away and glances at Charles, who's watching us with a smile on his face. Hank blushes and defensively asks, "what?"

"Nothing. I'm just considering what a good influence your wife is on you," the Professor replies brightly. "It's nice to see you accepting yourself."

A little under duress, but yeah, I'd like to think I make Hank feel better about himself. I  _try,_  at least.

I giggle at the thought of Professor X thinking the former Brotherhood member is a good influence on  _anyone,_  let alone his best friend. "You hear that?" I tease. "He thinks I'm a  _good_  influence, baby."

Hank grins. "You have your days. When you feel like it."

Charles and I laugh together, which is kinda weird. Weird, but also  _nice_  in a way. Hank watches the two of us chuckling with a smile on his face, probably because we're getting along so well.

The nice moment is ruined when I hear footsteps approaching in the hallway. My mood falls back to earth like a lead balloon.

Oh, great. Here comes my fan club.

I stop laughing and instinctively tense up, looking towards the infirmary entrance for the incoming threat. Next to me Hank reacts to my stress by rising to his feet.

"Here goes everything," I mutter as the entire X-Men crew steps into the room.

Their reactions are pretty predictable once they see me sitting there. They freeze in horror at the sight of an intruder in their precious school.

Angel's face looks like he just got a whiff of a full dumpster in August. "What's  _she_  doing here?" he demands, gesturing pointedly as he leads the others further into the room.

Oh yeah, I can already tell this is going to go well.

Charles does too, I think, because he quietly sighs. "Vivien is here for medical treatment," he explains calmly.

I can't help noticing that Jean perks up a little bit at the use of my real name. So that's something at least.

"Again?" Storm mutters loudly.

I snort back a giggle, which makes everyone look at me like I'm nuts.

"What?" I say defensively. "She's not wrong."

Hank looks like he's trying very hard not to sigh in exasperation. I guess I can understand why. The poor guy has definitely had to patch me up way too often for anyone's comfort.

"Since when are we the official hospital for the Brotherhood?" Cannonball asks stiffly.

Charles glances pointedly at me.  _I think it would mean more coming from you, Vivien,_  his voice says in my head.

I wince and take a deep breath. Here goes.

"I'm not part of the Brotherhood anymore," I explain.

One moment of loud, incredulous silence-

And then the bomb goes off.

_"What?"_

"And we're supposed to just  _believe_  that-?"

"How do we even know you're telling the truth?"

_"Really?_  You left your own brothers-?"

"Shut up, all of you!" Havok orders in a raised voice, which silences everyone immediately. "Maybe, if you let her  _talk,_  she'll give you a reason to believe her."

His support surprises me, I'm ashamed to say. I guess I'll have to start giving Havok more credit.

I give him a small smile. "Thanks," I say, before turning to the others. "I get why you don't believe me, but I'm telling the truth. Do you really think I could sit next to the most powerful telepath in the world and get away with lying about this?"

That shuts them right up.

I nod. "That's what I thought. Look, I've never believed in mutant superiority," I admit. "I joined the Brotherhood to keep my family together, thinking I could compromise my beliefs somehow. And for a while I did. But I can't do it anymore. I don't belong with them, not even my own brothers. Especially after they killed my friends the other night and then tried to do me in, too. That's how I got hurt- my own brother tried to kill me." I stare the X-Men down. "Magneto's planning something big with Stryker- something that could wipe out an entire city. I'm not saying that I'll ever deserve to be forgiven for the thing's I've done, but I want to try to stop him. I owe my friends that much, and I don't care if you X-Men help me or not- thought it'd definitely be easier if you did. But I'll take him out by myself if I have to."

Hank places his hand on my shoulder, but nobody notices before Charles starts talking.

"You're certainly off to a good start," he muses, with a wry chuckle. "Vixen-  _Vivien-_  not only stole sensitive documents for us and wiped the Brotherhood's computers, she also managed to blow up a decent part of their base and kidnap Stryker from right beneath their noses. If that's not a sign of good faith, I don't know what is."

The X-Men- even Storm, to my surprise- look reluctantly impressed. It's not like I'm going to let that go to my head or anything, though.

"Has anyone looked over the files yet?" Cannonball asks in a neutral voice.

"Me and the Professor have," Havok replies, "but a lot of it's in code."

"Vivien can probably break it," Hank offers quietly. When the others look skeptical he shakes his head and explains, "she's better than I am, when it suits her. She even cracked the security codes to get into the grounds."

Everyone looks uneasy at that bit of news. Havok gives Hank a questioning glance.

My mate sighs. "I  _told_  you I didn't let her in, didn't I?" he says impatiently.

Now Havok glares at me accusingly.

"What?" I ask, all innocence. "Would it make you feel better or worse to know that I've been able to walk in here whenever I felt like it, but haven't hurt anyone?"

The blonde grimaces, because he knows I've got a point.

I chuckle to myself.

It seems like the X-Men are  _finally_  willing to see the real me.


	83. Now What?

**Now What?**

Even a realist like myself has to be feeling pretty good about the situation right about now.

Oh, Hank could say that the X-Men would eventually be convinced if I just  _told_  them I'd left the Brotherhood until he was blue in the face (ha ha), but I have a hard time believing that.

I mean, I could  _claim_  that I'm Miss America or some shit all I want to, but that wouldn't make it  _true._  But I ponied up some  _damn_  good proof of my allegiance change last night, and the X-Geeks can't deny it.

So in other words, I owe Hank a big fat  _"I told you so."_

"Why don't you take a look at those files while we're retrieving Stryker?" Charles suggests, breaking into my rather gleeful anticipation. I don't get the upper hand on Hank all that often, alright? Just let me have my moment.

I nod. "Yes, sir."

"Where is Stryker?" Jean asks, speaking for the first time.

Charles glances at Hank. "In an apartment in Chelsea," my mate replies vaguely.

"Very well," the Professor says. "I think it best if Hank, Ororo, Sam and I go fetch him. The rest of you remain here and keep an eye on things, yes?"

There's a general murmur of agreement from the team.

"Splendid."

He keeps talking, but I don't notice what he's saying because Hank takes a deep breath and kneels next to me again. His sudden anxiety puts me on alert.

Uh oh.

"Do you want me to bring your things back while we're there?" Hank asks.

The implication doesn't escape me. "You mean give up on having a safe house?" I hedge, with undisguised wariness.

He nods, his face all shiny with hope. "Yes," he replies. "It's safe  _here,_  so you don't have to worry about running anymore. I- I want you to stay with me, Vivien."

Well that's just not  _fair_ , with the face and the big Bambi eyes, damn.

Giving up my safe house goes  _beyond_  just staying with Hank. It means believing that shit's not going to go sideways eventually. That everything is going to be alright, so I don't need an escape plan. Forgive me if I'm hesitant, because I've never experienced that in my entire adult life. One way or another, be it weeks or months- shit has  _always_ hit the fan, and being ready to run when it inevitably happens has kept me alive.

But I also realize that this basically comes down to the question of whether I trust Hank- his judgement, and his ability to keep me safe. And that's not really a question at all, is it? Go Team McCoy or whatever.

I sigh in defeat. "Ok."

Hank lets out an explosive exhale- he was holding his breath while I thought it out. "Yeah?"

I smile at his lit-up expression. "Yeah. If the X-Men will have me, I'll stay here," I tell him quietly. "With you."

God, he looks like I just told him he won the Nobel Prize or something. It's kinda humbling, actually, to see how happy he is at the thought of me staying. That's all he's ever wanted, really. Me to be with him.

He's so adorable I lean in and kiss him, forgetting about the other people in the room for just a moment. Not exactly a smart move on my part, considering how I purposely left out any reference to our relationship earlier to avoid throwing Hank under the bus and everything. I'm content to keep kicking that can down the road for as long as I can.

Thankfully the X-Men were so absorbed by Charles' directions that they didn't notice the kiss.

Mostly.

Jean is looking at Hank, smiling a little. After a second she winks at him and turns her gaze towards me. If anything, her grin gets even wider when her eyes meet mine.

I relax just a smidgen- this X-Man, it seems, doesn't have a problem with Hank smooching the ex-Brotherhood member. Thank God.

The team meeting breaks up right after that, with Cannonball and Storm drifting towards the door after Charles as he heads out.

Hank stands to follow and looks down at me with a wistful, anxious expression.

"It's ok," I tell him, trying to put on a brave face. I'm not exactly thrilled that he's leaving me with the X-Geeks, either. "I'll see you soon."

He gives my hand a furtive squeeze and reluctantly turns to go.

As he's walking away Jean tentatively approaches. "Hey," she says to me. "Can I get you anything? Breakfast, maybe?"

I blink in surprise but then chuckle. "With me and food it's never even a question," I tell her honestly. "Thank you. And- do you think maybe you could get me some paper and a pen, please? So I can get to work on those codes?"

She smiles. "Of course."

I glance over to see Hank still in the doorway, watching us. When I raise my eyebrows at him, both questioning and challenging his nosiness, he flushes and basically  _scampers_ after Charles and the others.

The remaining X-Men look at me like I'm crazy when I laugh for no apparent reason. Even Jean seems a little perplexed.

Well then. Looks like I'm off to an  _awesome_  start with these guys.

I awkwardly clear my throat. "Hey, Havok?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind getting me some printouts of those files, please?" I ask. "I want to get started."

"Sure."

"Thanks."

As Havok and Jean excuse themselves and start to head out of the infirmary, Angel leans in to Cyclops with a sneer and mutters softly, "God, she's got them acting like her  _minions_  or something."

It's probably not the time and place for it, but my temper immediately flares to life.

"Hey, Bird Brain," I snap. Havok and Jean whirl around, startled. "My ears aren't this big for no goddamn reason, you know. If you're going to talk shit, say it to my face."

Havok frowns. "Angel, do you have something to say?"

"No," Pretty Boy replies, though his sullen tone proves otherwise.

Cyclops pipes up. "He doesn't like you guys acting like 'minions' for Vixen," he explains impassively. Jesus, what a snitch.

Angel throws him a dirty look. "Alright, yeah."

Havok looks like he's on the verge of some kind of snappy retort, but then takes a deep breath in through his nose. "I think you're looking at this the wrong way, Warren. I don't have a problem grabbing the printouts, considering Vixen's just trying to get started on breaking those codes. Nothing wrong with that. And it's not like she knows where the kitchen is-"

He suddenly looks a little unsettled- probably picturing the Brotherhood member wandering around the school wherever she pleased, with no one the wiser.

"Do you?"

I smirk and shake my head no.

He lets out a small sigh of relief. "But even if she  _did,_  she's hurt. Why make her move around more than she needs to? Cut her some slack. I saw Hank working on her last night, you know. She lost her appendix, her spleen, and a whole lotta blood. Hank worked a miracle to save her," Havok continues. For some reason, he seems troubled for a moment.

And he's not the only one.

I mean, I had a feeling I was pretty damn close to death when I got here, and Hank confirmed that suspicion earlier. He can get a little (ok, more like  _very_ ) over-dramatic about my safety, though, so I kinda took that assessment with a grain of salt. But Havok has no reason to exaggerate. When he says I was close to biting the dust, he  _means_  it.

God, I can only  _imagine_  how awful that was for Hank. How scared and desperate he must have been, knowing that if he messed up his mate would die under his hands.

The thought makes my insides squirm with guilt over what I put him through. "I was wondering why I felt a couple pounds lighter today," I comment aloud, trying to make a joke and shake the uneasy feeling. "That explains it."

Again with the wide-eyed, incredulous looks. Oh Jesus.

I roll my eyes. "I see that humor is lost on you people," I sigh, with a teasing grin. "Don't worry, we'll get there."

"Maybe you're not all that funny," Angel snaps.

"I happen to be  _hilarious,_  Fancy Pants," I retort, still smiling. "Just ask me."

This time Havok snorts, Jean giggles, and even Cyclops looks like he's in danger of actually cracking a smile.

I grin hopefully at them- their more positive reactions make it easier to ignore the ugly glare Angel is giving me right now. Still, I err on the side of caution and don't say, "now go forth, my minions!" because I don't want to push my luck. It's tempting, though.

Thankfully there's no further dust-ups about Havok and Jean helping me out.

Havok returns first with the printouts.

"Thanks," I tell him when he hands me the stack. I gingerly start to maneuver myself off of the hospital bed, taking care not to move in a way that pulls at my stupid stitches too much. Jesus, they hurt worse than the wound did in the freaking first place.

"Er-" Havok says awkwardly. "Is that really-?"

I scowl at him. "I need to lay all this out somewhere. It's easier to see patterns that way."

He looks uncomfortable. "Yeah, but Hank's going to kill me if I let you hurt yourself."

I scoff. "Of the two of us, who do you  _really_  think you should be more scared of?"

That leaves him at a loss for words. While he's still mulling it over I take advantage and carefully regain my feet, turning a gasp of pain into a giggle so Havok doesn't get suspicious.

The more I walk the easier it gets, because I figure out which ways it hurts the least to move. "In here works," I say, tottering into the adjoining space and away from Cyclops and Angel. Despite my jokes, I don't really want to be in the same room as the Angel kid and his dirty looks.

Call me sensitive I guess.

But then my sense of unease turns to wonder when I step through the doorway into the other room.

Oh my God.

It's a wide, open space with two large lab benches set in the center. The walls are lined with machines and the benches are absolutely  _covered_  with equipment- most of which I can't even name- and papers with equations that look like straight gibberish to me. In any other room I'd say the stark white walls would seem forbidding and cold, but in here... I can  _feel_  Hank's presence echoing through the room, comforting and warm.

"Hank's lab, right?" I ask Havok, who followed me.

"Yeah," he replies.

"Wow."

He eyes me with an incredulous smirk. "Let me guess- you're a super nerd, too?"

I shake my head, still looking around. "Not at all," I tell him. "This room is important to Hank, though." I know I probably have a stupid-sappy grin right now. "The look on his face when he talks about it is just..."

Havok is watching me with an unreadable expression.

"What?" I demand defensively.

"Nothing."

Yeah, ok. Whatever.

Rather than pushing the issue I ease down on the floor and start spreading out papers. Before I can get started Jean comes in, holding a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and what I can only describe as a  _mountain_  of bacon.

"Aw, thank you!" I say brightly. "Bacon is the best food group, you know. You're my new favorite X-Man, Jean."

She looks startled for half a second, but then smiles shyly. "You're welcome. I figured because of your fangs, you'd be more carnivorous than not," she explains. Damn, give this girl an A+. "Is there anything else...?"

I'm both touched and weirded out by her solicitousness. I  _think_  Jean wants to be my friend. Pretty sure, anyway. But what I'm not sure about is  _why._  She seems so sweet and gentle, I can't see why a sarcastic potty-mouth like me would hold any appeal.

"No, thank you though," I tell her. "I've got all I need to get started now."

"Alright then," Havok says. "Let's leave her to it."

* * *

And so they do.

Jean and Havok go lean against one of the lab benches, talking quietly. After a while Cyclops and Angel drift in to join them, but at that point I'm so absorbed in trying to break the code I barely notice.

I start by spreading all of the papers out around me to see if I can pick up a pattern- commonly used letter groupings, that sort of thing. Usually I can pick out certain words that get used a lot and work from there to decipher a code, but not this time. I'll have to try something else...

After several unfruitful hours I become aware of a familiar set of footsteps hurriedly approaching the laboratory.

My Hank is back.

A smile is automatically forming when I glance up to see him come in, but the expression dies when I see the anxious, almost  _fearful_  look on his face.

"Hank?" I try to stand as quickly as I can, which of course pulls at my stitches. I wince.

"Careful," he scolds.

And then he pulls me into an embrace, in full view of the other X-Men.

"Hank," I whisper uncomfortably. Something's wrong, I can tell. Why else would he be showing so much affection in front of the others when we haven't told them about us?

"We've got trouble," Hank murmurs, confirming my fears.

Oh, great. What now?


	84. A Second Showdown

**A Second Showdown**

Hank draws back slightly and pulls something from his pocket- a slip of photographs, I realize when he holds them out to me. The pictures we took together in Ocean City at the beginning of the month. "Storm found this in your apartment," he explains. "Now she's on the warpath."

"Shit," I hiss.

Of all the X-Men to find out about us sneaking around,  _of course_  it had to be Storm, right? Only the one who hates me the most. Goddammit.

"It's not exactly how I wanted everyone to find out about us," Hank admits. "I was planning on letting them get used to you, at least while you're healing, and then-"

I snort. "Since when has  _any_  of this gone to plan, Hank?" I mutter disparagingly. "Seriously, why waste the brain power on making one?"

He grins reluctantly. "Good point."

Yeah, I know it's a good point.

Because really, plans have basically gone out the window since we met each other. Nothing has happened the way it's  _supposed_  to. It's not like  _Hank_  was something I planned on, that's for damn sure. I've been trying to- how did he say it?-  _carpe diem_  or whatever ever since he came into my life, seizing every moment of happiness with him that I could...

As if his thoughts mirrored mine, Hank leans down and kisses me.

At the same time Angel stomps over, obviously pissed at what he's seeing, with Havok and Jean trailing apprehensively behind him. Cyclops follows, as impassive as always. The dude seriously has a poker face like no other.

Just then Storm and Cannonball enter the laboratory, both looking about ready to burn the place down. Charles brings up the rear, his expression resigned and anxious.

Well that's really encouraging.

Hank presses me closer against his chest with a hand on my back, an instinctively protective motion. I know it's supposed to be comforting, but it actually makes me feel even more edgy.

_Trapped,_  I think as the X-Men half-circle us, blocking the exit. The silent accusations and sense of betrayal lay thick in the air.  _I feel trapped, and cornered._

It takes everything in me not to start growling at them all.

"Dr. McCoy has been sneaking out to see Vixen behind our back for months," Storm blurts out, glowering at us. "They even secretly got married last week."

Angel looks horrified (shocker), but Jean reacts with something more resembling bemused surprise. She already knew that we cared about each other, obviously. Just not  _how_ much, I guess.

"So you've been lying to us this entire time?" Cyclops asks Hank, his expression unreadable.

"Pretty much," Storm supplies. I spy little sparks of lightning arcing between her fingertips.

I bare my fangs at her.

"Makes you wonder what else he's been lying about," Angel mutters loudly.

Ok, seriously?

Just the thought of Hank being this super spy or something, the way Bird Brain's implying, is so fucking ridiculous that I snort in derision. Now everyone's attention is on  _me._

I can feel their narrow-eyed glares as I reach up and fondly pat Hank on the cheek. He's looking down at me like I've lost my mind for finding humor in the circumstances. "Looks like you went about this the wrong way, Hank," I tell him, pretending to ignore the others. "You were supposed to ask  _permission_  to have a girlfriend. Missed the boat on that one, baby."

"That's not the point," Angel snaps. "It's not that he needed  _permission,_  he just shouldn't have-"

"Fallen for me in the first place?" I offer coldly. "Well I'm going to give you a newsflash, Fancy Pants. Hank's a grown up. Who he sees and what he does with his spare time is none of your business."

"It does when it endangers everybody here," Cannonball retorts.

"I didn't endanger anyone," Hank cuts in defensively. "Vivien and I agreed from the very beginning to separate ourselves completely from our other personas. We barely even spoke of the X-Men and the Brotherhood at all-"

He gives me a sheepish look.

"Except, I suppose, when I would tell her she didn't belong with the Brotherhood and should leave them."

None of them look convinced. Like,  _at all_. The idea that Hank trusted the evil Brotherhood member to actually keep her word about their relationship clearly disturbs them.

I mean, yeah, he went behind their backs, so I get why they're so pissed on that count. But everything turned out alright, didn't it? Shouldn't that count for  _something_?

Apparently not with these folks.

See, this is the moment I was so scared of before. They're turning on him, just like I thought they would. Not that that vindication gives me any comfort though, right? Looks like I officially just fucked up Hank's life. His home, his team, his lab...

"It doesn't matter what we say, Hank," I mutter bitterly. "Never mind that  _I'm_  the one who ditched her team, not you, so that big issue of 'what if' is complete bullshit. Their whole view of you just go blown to smithereens, and they can't wrap their heads around it."

"What's  _that_  supposed to mean?" Storm demands.

I glare at her, because something inside me just  _snapped._  I'm going to fight hard for my mate's happiness, the life he's made for himself here. It's in jeopardy because of  _me,_ because of  _my_  bad choices. I've gotta defend him.

And you know what they say: sometimes the best defense is a good offense.

"You guys don't view Hank as a person," I explain, "so the fact that he went off and did something for himself boggles your mind."

Storm opens her mouth to argue, but I don't let her.

I continue on, almost shouting at the X-Men all these things I've thought about them because of their prick sanctimonious attitudes and their shitty treatment of my poor Hank.

"All of you see him as a tool- something you use and then put away when you're done, but otherwise you don't really think about it. All of you freaked out when Stryker kidnapped him- who was going to be your doctor if Hank was gone? Your tech support?- but have  _any_  of you noticed him leaving the house for hours on end for the past few months? No, because you didn't  _need_  him. You thought because he's quiet and never complains that he was happy with his situation in life. Did it even cross your minds that he was  _lonely,_  and just didn't know what to say? And do you think he  _likes_  using his smarts to build weapons that hurt people? Do you realize how much it scares him, knowing that if he messes up on anything he could have your blood on his hands? Of course it hasn't even crossed your minds. So forgive the man for doing something for himself for once in his entire damn life!"

I glower at all of them, fangs bared.

It actually felt kinda good to get all that out, to be honest. The way the X-Men have taken my Hank for granted all this time has been bugging me, even though he's too kind to realize that's what they were doing.

"Easy, sweetheart," Hank murmurs, trying to soothe me. The worrywart doesn't want me to completely lose my shit and attack Storm. As if I  _would._

Ok, fine. Maybe he  _does_  have reason to be concerned.

Everyone's looking at us, but Hank doesn't seem to notice. He's too busy gazing down at me, stroking my hair with a loving, awestruck expression on his face. Like he feels lucky to have me, I suppose, because I understand him and all the things he's never said aloud.

_Good to know you still think I'm worth it, baby._

Because taking in everyone's expressions, this is  _not_  going well. Now the others look guilty and ashamed of themselves after my diatribe. Forgiving and sympathetic, not so much.

I let out a defeated sigh. "Hank wanted to be honest with all of you from the get-go, but I asked him not to, ok?" I explain sadly. "I felt I couldn't leave the Brotherhood, and neither of us could give each other up. Trust me, we  _tried._  So this seemed like the best solution at the time. I didn't think of the future, of what would happen if this situation ever happened. I just... I loved him too much to let him go."

"The feeling was completely mutual," Hank says. He presses me close and tells the others, "I'm sorry for lying to all of you, and I understand why you're upset. I only kept it a secret because I knew you wouldn't believe a relationship like this could work. But I'm not going to apologize for falling love with Vivien, because being with her makes me happier than I ever thought possible for myself. Can you really blame me for that?"

A long, heavy silence follows.

As it stretches between us all I start thinking about how much time they'll allow us for Hank to pack a suitcase so we can leave. Surely Charles will give him  _that_  at least, right? I mean, the Professor's forgiveness won't mean jack-shit if the other X-Men refuse to work with Hank anymore. He doesn't strike me as the type that would force them to. So if they can't move past this...

Jean tentatively steps forward. "I know I can't," she says quietly.

"Jean," Storm chides, but the other girl shakes her head.

"Vivien hasn't really been our enemy for a while now. Think about it," Jean pleads, "for months, she's done her best to avoid attacking any of us- unless provoked, like the other night. She's even sabotaged the Brotherhood a few times. And we only found out that they're working with Stryker because she purposely got Fox to feed us information. Dr. McCoy kept their relationship a secret, yes, but he's right- we wouldn't have believed the truth anyway. So I can't blame you, Dr. McCoy. I'm glad you followed your heart."

"Thank you, Jean," Hank murmurs gratefully.

She throws a pointed look at Cyclops, who coughs. "I guess I understand, too," he mutters reluctantly.

Well that's interesting. The sweet telepath is with Mr. Expressionless? Color me surprised.

"Thank you," Hank says.

Now Cannonball grins reluctantly. "I get it. You two are like a modern day, mutant-version of Romeo and Juliet."

I giggle at the audible, weary sigh Hank lets out. "Hank doesn't appreciate the comparison," I explain. I nudge him affectionately. "Cheer up, baby. We've been married for a week and neither of us have bit the dust. We've already outlived Romeo and Juliet."

"Not for lack of trying on your part," he retorts. I roll my eyes.

Everyone chuckles at our light-hearted bickering, which seems to leech the tension out of the room.

Well, almost everyone.

Storm and Angel's disapproval radiates off of them, despite their silence. They just keep quiet because they know they're outnumbered.

It's a start, though. I'll take it.

After that the atmosphere is a helluva lot more relaxed, for obvious reasons. The Professor's relief is almost palpable after that little showdown, and so is Hank's. Mine too, if I'm being honest.

It's unbelievable, but here we are. The X-Men have (reluctantly) accepted not only my presence, but my relationship with Hank. How it'll all work out in the long run remains to be seen, but for now... I can breathe just a little bit.

* * *

"I think I'm ready for some lunch," Charles announces soon after. "Why don't all of us head to the cafeteria?"

There's a general assent around the room. Angel and Storm book it out of the lab pretty quickly, but everyone else lingers behind.

"Go ahead," Hank urges the others. "I need to grab a couple things first. We'll be there soon."

He pulls me in for a tight embrace as soon as they're all gone.

"We did it, Vivien," he murmurs, awestruck.

I chuckle. "Let me guess- time for you to tell me 'I told you so?'"

Hank pulls away enough for me to see him grin, kinda smug. "I don't think that's truly necessary," he replies.

I raise my eyebrows. "Yeah, ok."

He laughs ruefully and cups my face in his hands. "Very well. I  _told_  you it would be alright, sweetheart," he murmurs, kissing me. "And now... I can have you and not feel guilty for lying to anyone about it."

We grin like idiots at one another. On impulse I step in for another hug, savoring the relief washing over us both. This feeling is a better high than any drug could offer.

Hank buries his nose in my hair and holds me close. "You're going to have a  _home_  here, Vivien. I promise," he murmurs fervently. "You don't have to run anymore. Clothes, books, records- anything you want, I'll get it for you."

I snort. "Sounds like you want to spoil me."

"I do," he replies, still serious.

"No complaints here, then," I tell him. I carefully reach up and bring his face down to mine so I can nuzzle against him. "But just so you know, that stuff doesn't matter to me all that much. What matters is where  _you_  are."

God, his smile is so bright it could light up New York City. "Ok."

"I gotta ask though- did you manage to bring my piano back?"

Hank nods proudly. "Yes, I did. And after lunch I'll move all of your stuff into  _our_  room," he assures me.

"'Our' room," I whisper, grinning. "I like the sound of that."

"Me, too."


	85. Oh, the Possibilities

**Oh, the Possibilities**

After another embrace Hank comments that we should get a move on before the X-Men send a search party back after us. He then pulls out that same stupid wheelchair he had me use when I was here back in October.

"No," I tell him flatly.

"Vivien-"

"There's nothing wrong with my legs," I snap.

Hank opens his mouth to argue but then purses his lips. I guess something in my expression made him think better of it. Or maybe he's letting the relief after that second showdown with the X-Men soften his judgement, I don't know. "If I let you walk around you need to tell me immediately if you feel tired or dizzy, ok?"

I roll my eyes and smile. "Relax, baby. I'm not going to let all your hard work go to waste."

"Not intentionally," he concedes. "But  _my_  definition of your current physical limitations greatly differs from yours."

I snort. "Nothing new about that. God, I feel like I'm going to make you go gray prematurely from worrying about me so much," I muse.

He grins sadly. "Perhaps. So  _please,_  take it easy for my sake, if not your own," he pleads. "I don't need to look any older than I already do compared to you."

"Oh, that's bullshit and you know it, Hank," I retort. "You could still pass for a teenager, if you wanted to." I giggle mischievously. "Until you open your mouth, that is."

He ignores that comment. "Promise me?"

_Again_  with the big puppy-dog eyes, the cheater. "I promise," I agree sullenly.

"Thank you. Now," he says, offering me his arm, "shall we?"

I refuse to admit it, but I'm grateful for the support- both physically  _and_  mentally. Last time I was here the cafeteria felt like a big fishbowl with all the staring, so feeling Hank's silent support next to me is comforting.

And then there's the whole I-almost- _died_ -last-night thing, too, so I'm still feeling pretty weak. My pride won't let me accept the wheelchair, but I definitely need some help walking more than a few feet.

Just don't tell Hank I said that.

* * *

Every time I stepped inside the dining hall last year I got a lot of unfriendly looks and whispers.

Today it's different.

Don't get me wrong, there's still  _plenty_  of staring and murmurs when I appear in the doorway, clinging to Hank's arm. It just doesn't feel as hostile this time. This time the atmosphere is more...  _curious_  than anything else. I hear plenty of people talking about me, a bunch of inquisitive whispers about my exploits.

"Do you really think she blew up the Brotherhood base?"

Huh. Word sure travels around here fast, doesn't it? I guess some of the X-Men spread the word ahead of our arrival.

"I heard she punched Magneto in the face."

_Don't I wish._

"Do you think it's true? That Dr. McCoy is in love with her?"

"Well he definitely looks happy she's on his arm, at least."

"I heard she showed up half-dead last night," one girl says to another.

"I believe it," her companion replies. I can feel her eyes on me. "She's lookin' pretty out of it."

Well  _that's_  rude. I mean, after the walk here I definitely need to sit down for a minute, but that doesn't mean they need to point it out or whatever, jeez.

"Here," Hank murmurs. He practically  _carries_  me over to a table and pulls out a chair. "I'll go get you something to eat."

Do I really look  _that_  terrible? Damn.

"Hank-"

"You've already taxed yourself too much this morning," he cuts in, his expression serious. "Humor me, please."

I scowl, but I can already tell resistance will be futile on this one. Hank means business when he gets that look in his eyes. He grins and gives me a quick kiss when he realizes I'm not going to argue this time.

And he says  _I_  like to rub it in.

Hank steps away, leaving me at the table by myself. I try to ignore the renewed flurry of whispers from the peanut gallery following that kiss. Rumors confirmed, obviously.

Thankfully I'm not alone for long.

A familiar, quill-haired figure approaches me now, a tentative smile on his face.

"Hi, Vivien."

"Evan! It's so good to see you. How have you been?"

I start to stand up to hug him, but Evan quickly tells me, "hold up, hold up. I heard you got hurt real bad last night."

"You heard right," I reply ruefully. "Please sit down. I feel like everyone's staring at me, I hate it."

He takes the seat next to me and glances around at the owlish looks we're getting. "You ain't wrong on that one," he muses. He gives the hand I offer him an affectionate squeeze.

I grunt in annoyance. "Whatever. But how are you?" I ask. "Hank mentioned you decided to stay."

"Yup. I really like it here," he replies with a smile. "The Professor is helping me get a diploma. I'm hoping-"

Spyke's interrupted by a chorus of childish voices saying my name.

"Ms. Vivien, Ms. Vivien!"

I'm suddenly surrounded by a flock of little kids. The children I met in the music room last year gather the closest, but there are a few I don't recognize standing nearby, obviously curious.

"Ms. Vivien, you're back!" little Marie crows happily.

Oh my God- not only do these kids  _remember_  me from so many months ago, they also seem genuinely happy to see me again.

There might be something in my eye right now.

"I sure am," I reply. I spy Hank coming towards us with a tray of food in hand and smile. "To  _stay,_  this time."

Evan perks up at that.

"You're really staying here?" Abby asks eagerly.

"I am," I assure her.

"Are you going to teach us to sing some more?"

Teaching?  _Me?_

A buoyant, hopeful feeling washes over me at the thought. I mean, talk about a dream come true.

For the first time it really hits me that staying here for good might mean the chance to become a teacher. It's something I've dreamed about since I was a kid, and now the opportunity may actually be here. God, I want it so bad it  _hurts._

But no matter how much I want it, I don't want to make promises I can't keep. I hesitate and carefully say, "if the Professor wants me to, I will."

"Of course," Charles supplies- he was right behind Hank, balancing a tray of food across his knees, and I didn't even notice.

The Professor maneuvers his wheelchair to the spot catty-corner from me, across from Spyke. Hank hastily sits next to him, almost like he's scared he won't get a chance to sit near me.

I have to smother a giggle- I'm not used to being this popular.

"I would like nothing better than for you to teach here," Charles continues. His next words are an imperious command. "Hank, you must finish the music room straight away."

"I'll add it to my to-do list," my mate assures him with a smile. He doesn't seem annoyed by the bossiness at all. More excited at all the possibilities in front of us.

Well, likewise.

A teacher.  _Me._  I'm going to be a teacher.

And I'm sure Hank will make me a new jumpsuit so I can help stop Magneto once I'm healed. Hell, whatever nifty things Hank comes up with will be worth the price of joining the goody-two shoes X-Geeks all on its own. I'm looking forward to seeing what he makes for me.

How amazing will it be, now that we get to work together? And I mean for  _real_  this time, without having to go back to our separate teams afterwards. Not having to worry about fighting each other for the sake of a mission, or choosing our love for each other over our other loyalties. For so long our hearts were in conflict with our sense of duty, but not anymore.

Now I'm actually sorta glad Storm found those pictures in my apartment earlier. The stress of that showdown was worth this feeling of relief after getting rid of all the secrets. Now we get to be together openly, the way Hank always wanted.

The thought of Storm in my safe house brings to mind her original purpose there- to help retrieve Stryker. Where is that crazy bastard, anyway? I haven't seen an inkling of the guy since they got back. I mean, I was a little-  _distracted._  But still.

I raise my eyebrows at Charles. "Aren't we missing a crazy person?" I ask. "Or did you decide he wouldn't make a good dinner guest?"

The Professor sighs. "Essentially, yes," he admits. "A few of the students- or their family members- have had run-ins with Stryker in the past-"

Next to me Evan shifts in his seat. I wonder if he's had his own adventure with the guy?

"-And I thought it best not to subject the school's general population to the reminder," Charles concludes. "I'm keeping him asleep in the infirmary for now. I'll see what information I can lift from his thoughts later."

"I'd like to know how he ended up working with the Brotherhood in the first place," I mutter, picking at the mashed potatoes on the plate Hank got for me.

"Wouldn't we all," Havok chimes in, plopping down next to Charles.

He's quickly joined by Cannonball, Cyclops, and Jean, all carrying trays of food.

It's actually a pleasant surprise, even though Angel and Storm are pretty noticeably absent. Most of the X-Men  _are_  making a point of sitting with us, though. Holding out the olive branch or whatever.

Giving me a chance.

"How exactly does a military officer who moonlights as a mad scientist hook up with a mutant terrorist organization?" Havok adds.

"I intend to find out," Charles replies grimly.

* * *

"So, Vixen, where are you from originally?" Havok asks.

No, not Havok.  _Alex._

That's going to take some getting used to. Just like I have to keep reminding myself that Cannonball's real name is Sam and Cyclops is actually Scott. I'm so used to viewing them through the X-Men lens that I'm having a hard time adjusting. Maybe I'm not the only one?

Alex's blase question kinda startles me, to be honest. It's the kind of small talk you make with an acquaintance, someone you wouldn't mind finding out more about.

It's weird for me, ok?

I'm not...  _friendly._  I mean, I'll chitchat if I have to and stuff, but beyond that, not so much. I'm too used to being a loner, I guess. Besides Marcel and everyone in Hell's Kitchen I've never really purposely set out to make friends- and look how well  _that_  turned out, right? In my experience, friends are just another weapon to be used to hurt you with. It's safer to keep up a wall between myself and other people.

Still, I know that if I'm going to stay here I'm going to have to try to move past that.

"I grew up in Louisiana," I reply carefully. "What about you? I think Hank said you lived in Alaska for a long time?"

Aw shit.

Am I allowed to know that? Or does that seem like Hank was somehow feeding me information about the X-Men? What's harmless and what's not?

Crap.

"I mean, Hank mentioned it once. When he talked about you as his friend," I add quickly. "He only ever spoke about you guys as his friends with me. Not as X-Men."

An uncomfortable silence falls.

Goddammit, looks like I've screwed the pooch already. I suck at this, man.

"What- what sort of things did he tell you?" Jean asks tentatively. It's obviously an offer for me to explain how innocuous my talks with Hank really were.

I glance at him. He nods, encouraging me.

"Well... he told me how much Evan seems to like it here," I say slowly, giving him a small smile. "And what the Professor went through before starting the school up again. Hank mentioned how you used to call him Bozo, Havok. He told me that he thinks that you could be a doctor, Jean, because you're so kind and clever- as if I hadn't figured that out on my own. And how it was you-"

I point my fork at Sam accusingly.

"-Who set him up with that absolute  _twit,_  Lucy."

"Guilty," Cannonball admits, grinning sheepishly. He gives Hank a speculative look. "She didn't really dump you, did she? That's why you seemed surprised when I mentioned it."

"Yes," Hank replies. "I broke things off because I couldn't continue to see her in good conscience. Not when I loved someone else." I smile when he casts a meaningful glance my way. "But I think Lucy lied about how things ended between us to soothe her own vanity."

"Shallow as a puddle, that one," Sam agrees, nodding wisely. "I don't know what I was thinking, setting her up with you, of all people."

"You were thinking of getting in good with Alison," Havok stage-whispers.

All of us chuckle at Sam's embarrassed, shamefaced grin. He and Alex start going back and forth, joking with one another while the rest of us look on.

The good-natured teasing feels pretty good, actually. Almost familiar, in a way. Even though it hurts to think about them, this reminds me a lot of how my friends in Hell's Kitchen would joke around. Especially Marcel, the eternal jokester. God, I miss him.

But still. Watching this makes me wonder if maybe... maybe I can fit in here, after all.


	86. We'll Be Ok

**We'll Be Ok**

"Are Scott and Jean really together?" I ask Hank as we finally head back to his- excuse me,  _our-_  room that night.

It's definitely been a  _long_  day.

We had not one but  _two_  showdowns with the X-Men this morning. And then after lunch I went back to work on the Brotherhood files while Hank and Jean moved my crap out of the car up to Hank's room. While that was going on Charles and the other X-Men went to work on unscrambling Stryker's brain.

From the sounds of it, unfortunately, Hank and Jean are the only ones who had any success on their project for the afternoon. Stryker's still nuttier than squirrel poo, and I've made a grand total of  _zero_  headway in cracking the code.

My lack of progress is starting to freak me out. What if the X-Men start thinking I'm not even really  _trying_? What if I  _can't_  break this code and Hank's faith in me is completely misplaced? What are we going to do then? They're all counting on me, and I might be fucking up on what could be my first real contribution to the team.

I was getting so pissy and anxious I was actually  _glad_  when Hank showed up to usher me to dinner, and then bed. For once him being a big worrywart is working to my advantage.

"Yes," he replies to my question now. "Why do you ask?"

I shrug a little. "He's so...  _boring_ ," I explain. "Like, seriously. Does he ever smile?"

Hank grins. "Some people would say the same about  _me,_  you know," he argues.

"You smile all the time," I retort. "Look, you're smiling right now."

"That's because I'm around you, darling."

I roll my eyes to hide how soft and squishy inside that makes me feel. "And you're not boring. You're just shy."

"So is Scott. He's always been rather reserved."

"Hmph. Maybe it's a good thing he's dating a telepath, then," I muse. "She can see all his deepest thoughts and feelings or whatever if she wants."

Hank chuckles. "Yes, I would think so," he agrees. He squeezes me closer with the arm around my waist. "Speaking of, I asked Jean how much she knew about us while she was helping me earlier."

That piques my interest, remembering how she smiled when she saw us kissing in the infirmary. "Oh yeah?"

He nods. "She told me she could tell we fell for each other when you came here in October," he tells me. "But she didn't realize we still cared about one another until that night we heard you speaking to Fox. Our reactions gave us away, apparently. She felt bad for us because she thought we would never have a chance to be together."

"So she didn't know we were sneaking around?"

"No," he replies. At my incredulous look he adds, "most telepaths try to be scrupulous with their powers. The good ones, anyway."

"Uh huh."

"She's happy for us, though."

"That's what it seemed like, earlier," I say. "I think- I think she wants us to be friends."

"I think so, too," Hank agrees, and he looks really happy about that. But then he frowns. "Is that a problem?"

"No, but..."

But my track record with friends isn't so sparkling right now. Being my friend seems like more of a health hazard than anything else. And again, I'm not outgoing by any stretch of the imagination. I'm not even all that  _nice._

Hank opens his mouth to argue, but at this point we reach the stairs to the second floor. He stops and looks from me to them in dismay.

_Thanks for the vote of confidence, baby._

Right now the slope and angle kinda reminds me of Mount Everest or something. Oh Jesus, just  _looking_  at them makes the stitches across my stomach twinge.

"The elevator-?"

"I'm fine."

Sorta. I think?

_No, I can do this. They're just_  stairs, _for crying out loud. I can do this, I can-_

To give him credit, Hank  _does_  let me try to make it on my own. I think I'm doing alright too, though I start to feel out of breath about halfway up.

That just pisses me off. They're  _stairs,_  dammit. I can't believe how weak-

Suddenly Hank scoops me up into a bridal hold.

"Hank-" I protest.

"We're about to make our first authorized and sanctioned entrance into  _our_  room," he declares. "I think such an occasion dictates that I carry you over the threshold again."

I snort at his obvious attempt to spare my pride and kiss him on the cheek. "You're such a transparent liar," I mutter fondly. "But a sweet one."

"And you're an obdurate contrarian," Hank retorts, nuzzling my hair. "And I love you."

He doesn't put me down again until he's carried me into the room and shut the door behind us. Once I'm on my feet again I take a minute to start checking things out a bit.

It looks like he rearranged his shelving some to make space for my books and records. I don't see any of my clothes, so I'm assuming he put everything away in his dresser and closet. He also moved a bookcase over to make a little area for my piano against the wall.

"What do you think?" Hank asks. I can hear the anxiety he can't quite hide in his voice. "Does it feel like home for you?"

I take another look around. All of my worldly possessions (such as they are) are in this room, our scents co-mingling in a way that already feels familiar.

But more importantly, Hank is here. And that's what matters most.

"Yes," I reply. "Yes, it does."

Hank lets out an explosive sigh of relief and rushes over to sweep me into a gentle embrace.

I can't help giggling over his uninhibited reaction, just because it's so out of character for him. I pull him down for a kiss.

_Home._

I've finally found a home here, with him.

* * *

You know that heat you feel radiating off a light bulb when it's been on for a while?

Well, Hank's happiness is like that. It's  _palpable,_  this warmth I can sense in the air as he surreptitiously watches me get ready for bed. He's just  _so_  damn happy that we get to wake up together every morning now. It's kinda adorable, to be honest.

And I'm happy too, I really am.

That's completely crazy, isn't it? Considering everything that's happened over the past few days? It almost seems  _wrong_  to feel this way. I'm happy, but then every time I think of Marcel and everybody dying I get all choked up and swamped with this guilty feeling. I don't deserve to be so happy after everything, not when those wonderful people got screwed out of their  _lives_  because of  _me._

I wonder if this guilt will always cast a cloud over me from now on, an added weight to my grief over losing them all. How can I live with myself, when in the back of my mind I feel like my present joy and all my hopes for the future came at their expense?

The thought makes me let out a shaky sigh once I'm in bed next to Hank.

"What's wrong, Vivien?" he asks anxiously. I can see him squinting at me in the dark because he's in his human form and took off his glasses for bed. Human Hank is not  _nearly_ as cuddly as Beast Hank, but I keep that comment to myself.

"I feel..." I begin hesitantly. How to explain it? "I feel  _bad,_  I guess, because I'm so happy right now."

"You feel  _bad_  for feeling  _happy_ ," Hank repeats, obviously confused.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," I scold, frowning. "It's just- my brothers killed all of my friends forty-eight hours ago, and then tried to murder me last night. I miss Marcel and everybody but... I'm also stupidly happy that I get to wake up and go have breakfast with you tomorrow. I- I wonder if it's wrong to be compartmentalizing like this, I guess."

Hank is silent for a few minutes, thinking it over. "Vivien," he finally says, "do you think for one second that Mr. Cole would want you to completely curl up into a ball and cry for days over him?"

I roll my eyes. "Hank-"

"No, he wouldn't, would he?" Hank interjects. "He'd want you to move forward. The best way to honor his memory and everyone else's is to live your own life, and to stop Erik's plan so no other human ever meets the same fate. And as for your brothers... I suppose the same logic applies. They tried to steal your very life away, and before that they tried to control you-"

He breaks off for a moment, like he's struggling to reign in his anger towards my brothers. He's made it pretty clear in the past that James and Myles didn't "deserve" me, as he put it. And that was  _before_  they tried to kill me, so I'm guessing they've earned a permanent spot on his shit list now.

"-So I don't think there's anything wrong with putting that behind you and trying to live exactly the way you want to," he continues. "Don't they always say that 'living well is the best revenge?'"

"I don't believe in revenge, remember?" I counter.

"True, but I think this might be one of those perfect times for you to take exception and bend your own rules," Hank replies. He leans down to kiss me. "You won't be able to once I make you a uniform, since you'll officially be an X-Man."

I'm silent for a moment, absorbing that. He makes it all sound so  _logical,_ doesn't he? Everything he's saying makes so much sense. Or maybe I want to be absolved of this guilt so badly that I'm willing to believe anything, even if he's just trying to make me feel better.

And if he is... well, he's doing a damn good job of it.

I smile. "God," I whisper. "I love you, Hank."

"I love you too, Vivien," he murmurs, and then he settles down and pulls me against his chest.

Being tucked into his embrace like this makes that sense of safety and calm, of being  _home,_  wash over me again. I snuggle down further, letting my guilt and tension- not necessarily  _disappear-_  but at least fade into the background enough for me to sleep.

* * *

May 23, 1975

_"It ain't your fault, Vivien..."_

_"Live your life, honey. It's ok..."_

_"But make sure you grab Hank's ass once just for me, baby girl..."_

_There's the sound of laughter, but I can't find the source. All I see are shadows, and I can't help thinking that they're echoes of those poor people I cared about so much._

_"Marcel?" I try to call out, but my lips aren't working right. "Marcel-?"_

_"It's ok..."_

_"'Bye, baby girl..."_

I blink awake, eyes stinging, to see morning sunlight shining through Hank's ugly rusty orange curtains. I know, I know- they're supposed to be  _our_  curtains now, but I'm not claiming ownership of something that hideous.

_Hmm. I wonder if Hank would be offended if I redecorated a bit? I should definitely ask him-_

But before I pursue that line of thought any further, the memories of the dream that woke me come floating back.

Voices, the voices of people I loved- no,  _love,_  because death doesn't change a feeling like that. I mean, I still love my parents and they've been dead for over a fucking decade.

But that dream... it felt so  _real._  Like Betty and everyone was standing just out of my line of sight, speaking to me. Telling me goodbye, saying it was ok. That I can forgive myself for their loss.

Talk about wishful thinking, right? I mean, I  _can't_  do that, can I? Of course not. Not when it was  _my_  fault that they died.

Right?

Well one thing's for sure, anyway. I know I'll never forget my friends. Marcel, Mr. Cole, Betty- they will  _always_  be a reminder to me of the goodness of humanity. The fact that they existed at all is proof enough that the human race doesn't deserve whatever bullshit Magneto is trying to pull.

_After I stop him,_  I vow to myself, right here and now.  _I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to live up to their examples of kindness and open hearts. Maybe that's how I'll find my own piece of redemption. It's worth a shot, at least._

I reach up behind me and stroke the back of Hank's neck, which is the only part of his head I can really reach because his face is buried in my hair. After a minute or so he inhales deeply and squeezes me tighter, a sign he's probably waking up.

Sure enough-

"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice attractively husky. He kisses the back of my head.

"'Morning," I reply quietly, still kinda pensive.

I think Hank senses that because now he shifts over, propping his head up on his hand so he can look down at me. "You ok?"

Am I ok? Oh yeah, I'm fucking  _fantastic_  right now, considering what's happened over the past few days.

I open my mouth to make some kind of sarcastic retort, but then I think of that dream again.

_Live your life, honey. It's ok._

And almost in spite of myself, this odd feeling of- of  _closure,_  I guess, washes over me. Maybe it's not ok  _yet,_  but it  _will_  be. Someday.

I smile up at my husband's anxious face. "Yeah," I tell him. "I'm fine."


	87. Security Checks

**Security Checks**

May 24, 1975

I think it's safe to say I'm generally a- a  _cautious_  person, considering my past experiences. I like to be prepared for any curve balls that might come my way as a matter of policy. Better safe than sorry, right?

Alright, maybe that's putting it lightly. I'm kinda a borderline paranoid nutcase, but can you really blame me after everything that's happened? No, I didn't think so.

That's why I don't think twice about doing a general walk-through of the mansion's defenses the first chance I get. It's not that I don't trust Hank's abilities, because I do. I really do. I just... I guess old habits are hard to break, alright? So sue me.

I decide without further investigation that the fence surrounding the mansion is passable, for now anyway.  _I_  was able to get through the gate, but it took me a lot of time and effort to hack in. The rest of the Brotherhood won't be able to do that, I know. None of them have the code-breaking skills, and I don't think Wanda's powers would be able to affect the gate either.

As for other means... it sounds like we're safe on that, as well. It's actually kinda comforting to know that Magneto chased my ass all the way here and couldn't break in to get me. I'm pretty sure that if he believed he could get through the fence he would've at least  _tried_  the other night. From what Hank said, he didn't. So that's one more security item checked off.

Which leaves Cerebro.

The first chance I get to myself I hobble my way out of Hank's laboratory, where I've been working on the Brotherhood files, in search of the cavernous room my man has told me so much about. I find it pretty quickly, thanks to following a concentrated trail of Charles' scent.

"Alright, here we go," I mutter to myself. And then I gingerly kneel down and get to work on trying to break in.

_Nowhere._  I get fucking nowhere on that door, the coding is so complex. It doesn't help that there's a retinal scanner built in, too, but surely there's gotta be a way for Hank to get in there to maintenance and stuff, right-?

Don't get me wrong, I'm  _glad_  I'm having such a hard time getting in. It means the security system is doing what it's supposed to. But at the same time, code-breaking is a matter of pride for me. Like Hank said, I've never met a code I couldn't break. So yeah, I'm a little pissy that I can't get past this stupid-

I'm so damn intent on hacking into Cerebro that I don't even notice Charles coming up behind me, the soft whirl of his motorized wheelchair registering in my awareness too late to do anything.

"Vivien?"

I automatically freeze, because I know damn well that I've just been caught red-handed.

_Oh shit._

Jesus. First I can't break into something and then I let a handicapped guy sneak up on me? Am I losing my touch or what?

I painfully rise to my feet and turn around to face Charles as he motors closer. His expression is shuttered, like he's not exactly sure  _what_  to think about this whole situation.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

I smile sheepishly. "This probably looks  _really_  bad," I admit, because let's be real here- playing this off is going to be impossible. I know how shady this looks. And then he's a fucking  _telepath,_  for Christ's sake.

"Yes, it does," Charles agrees. He raises his eyebrows expectantly. "Care to explain?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I was testing the security system?"

He stares at me blankly.

"Look, if the Brotherhood was to try to break into the mansion, Cerebro would be their first target. Destroying it would mean you've lost your ability to sniff Magneto out long-range," I explain, a little defensive. "I'm just trying to make sure there's no way they can get in, if they somehow make it this far."

Charles regards me silently for a long moment, with this weird mix of distrust and... pity, maybe?

"What?" I snap, because I don't like the idea of him pitying me.

He clears his throat. "You could've just asked, Vivien," he murmurs.

I can't help rolling my eyes, even though I know it's really disrespectful and everything. "That would defeat the purpose, Professor," I retort. Duh.

This startles him into a chuckle. "Perhaps you're right," he concedes. After a moment he gestures to the door. "So, what was your assessment?"

"I can't get in," I begrudgingly confess, because I hate to admit the defeat. Still, I smile a little and say, "Hank should be proud of himself."

Charles grins back. "He  _should_  be, yes. But it  _is_  Hank we are speaking of," he replies, and we both laugh. "Would you like to see inside? I can let you in, unless you'd like to keep trying?" He grins cheekily.

Oh, haha. Wheelchair Man has jokes, does he?

"I'd like that."

I move out of his way so Charles can motor closer, positioning himself dead-center in front of the door. A beam of light appears and scans his retinas.

_"Welcome, Professor,"_  an electronic female-sounding voice says, as the panels slide open with a soft hiss.

"After you?" Charles prompts, gesturing for me to go in first. He trails behind me as I warily step inside-

"Holy shit," I whisper. I crane my neck up to catch a glimpse of a cavernous ceiling, barely illuminated by the light shining through from the hallway behind me.

The room- though I'm not really sure Cerebro qualifies as just a  _room-_  I'm in is a ginormous, perfect sphere with bluish-white walls made of huge smooth panels. I'm standing on a bridge of sorts that juts out into the center without reaching the other side, almost like a cliff in a way. At the end of it there's an instrument panel of some kind.

All in all, very impressive for a giant brain-amplifier-thing. Or whatever Cerebro is supposed to be.

Charles chuckles. "Yes, I suppose that  _is_  an appropriate response."

"Um- right," I agree. Some teacher I'll make, with my potty mouth. Jesus.

Thankfully the Professor doesn't seem to have a problem with it. He just smiles and starts forward towards that fancy-looking control panel, leaving me to follow, still awestruck over Hank's work. How long did it take him to build this thing, anyway? I mean, I know he had a lot of time on his hands, but shit. The sheer magnitude of Cerebro absolutely blows my-

Just then something set underneath the instrument panel catches my attention, distracting me from contemplating Hank's utter lack of a social life over the past decade and change.

"Hey," I blurt out, surprised. I point to the goofy-looking headgear I remember seeing on television that day in the diner with James. Back before I'd ever heard of the Brotherhood and the X-Men, when to me Magneto was just a nameless crazy guy with bad fashion sense trying to kill the president. "Is that Magneto's freaky thought-blocking helmet?"

Charles hesitates for a moment, but then admits, "yes, it is."

"The one you took from him at the White House?" I press. "Because he's still pissed about that, you know."

Professor X chuckles bitterly. "Oh, I'm sure he is," he murmurs. "Even before we parted ways, Erik mistrusted my ability to read his thoughts."

I scoff at the thought of Charles messing around with Magneto's brain without a very valid reason. I mean, the idea of him being able to dip in and dip out of my head whenever he feels like it still freaks me out- old habits again- but I also believe that Professor X has more integrity than that.

Like, so much it makes me want to gag sometimes.

"It still weirds me out that you guys were friends," I muse aloud. "I mean, Magneto would have offed me the  _second_  he caught me snooping around, no questions asked. Not like you."

Another thought occurs to me.

"But then again, maybe it's  _not_  so crazy."

"Oh?"

"Magneto told me you were always looking for another soul to save," I explain. Now it's my turn to laugh with a little bitterness, thinking of that night we played chess. I was  _so_ sure I had the upper hand on that bastard, thinking I could save my brothers and the twins from his twisted thinking. Boy, was I wrong. "I thought that was rich, coming from him."

Charles' expression is pure regret. "I shouldn't have let him go. Or perhaps if I had tried-"

"Hey," I interject, shaking my head. "Whatever that crazy bastard does is on  _him,_  not you. No need for you to fall into another ten year deep bottle of regret again over stuff that's over and done with."

With everything that's going on, that's the  _last_  thing we need. And anyway, I would hope by now that Charles has learned from his mistakes, you know?

"Hank told you about my- er, dark period, did he?" he asks sheepishly.

I snort. " _Oh yeah_ , he did. Which reminds me, I've got a bone to pick with you," I announce, turning to Charles purposefully. I've been meaning to say this to him anyway, and now is a perfect opportunity for it.

He looks startled when I point an accusing finger right in his face.

"If you ever feel like throwing yourself a decade-long pity party again, don't you  _dare_  drag Hank down with you," I tell him sternly. "We both know damn well that he doesn't deserve it- he didn't deserve it the  _first_  time around, but he's too good a person to ditch a friend in need. You were so busy moping about Erik and Raven that you didn't even realize what an amazing man you still had on your side. All of this taking Hank for granted shit is  _over._  You got that?"

Charles can't seem to decide if he feels afraid, guilty, insulted, or amused over my little diatribe. Maybe it's a combination of all four, I don't know.

I can't say I'm surprised over his nonplussed attitude- I have a feeling nobody around here has the balls to call the vaunted Professor X out on his crap. It's a role I'll be happy to fill as long as I'm sticking around here, whether he likes it or not. Everyone needs that voice of reason in their life, you know?

And I think he agrees with me, because after a moment though he clears his throat and murmurs, "I highly suspect that you wouldn't let that happen anyway, Vivien."

I raise my eyebrows. "Which part? Inviting Hank to host your pity party, or the shindig itself?"

"Either," he replies, chuckling. I might be wrong, but there might be a glimmer of admiration in his eyes now as his expression becomes more serious. "I'm certainly happy he has you now, Vivien. Especially a woman of your, uh-  _spirit,_  yes? He's... he's been alone so long. I'm glad he won't be anymore."

I smile down at the older man in relief, knowing that he approves of me despite all the rough edges and swear words. "If I have my way, Charles," I assure him, "Hank will never feel alone ever again."

And that's a fucking promise.

* * *

May 25, 1975

_If that symbol is "e," then... I think..._

_Wait, that's not right. Which means this entire thing is wrong,_  again.

"Mother fucker!" I snarl, slamming my fists down on the table. I crumple up the piece of paper I was taking notes on and throw it at the garbage can with as much force as I can muster. It joins the fucking  _pile_  of abortive attempts that's growing because I can't break this goddamn code.

I've been at it for  _days_  now at this point. With the exception of that little talk with Charles, I've spent basically all of my time in Hank's laboratory trying to puzzle out the Brotherhood's files, leaving only for meals and bed when my worrywart husband drags me away.

God, what am I doing wrong here?

I'm really starting to panic on my lack of anything even  _remotely_  resembling progress. I bet the X-Men are starting to wonder if I'm even  _trying_  to break this code. And most of them were actually starting to tolerate me, but soon they're going to start agreeing with Bird Brain and Storm and see me as a-

"That bad?" Hank's voice asks behind me- Jesus, I'd been so intent on the code I didn't even notice him enter.

"Worse," I mutter, because it looks like I'm losing my edge on  _all_  levels now.

Hank's quiet for a long moment, which I guess means he's got jack shit on helping me out right now. Isn't that just super?

"I don't believe you've seen the kitchen yet," he finally announces. "How does a sandwich sound?"

I manage a half-hearted, teasing grin. "I think we haven't been married long enough for you to be telling me to go make you a sandwich," I tease.

Hank laughs. "Perhaps not," he agrees, "but I actually meant that it might be good for you to take a break. Sometimes distance from a problem is all you need to solve it."

_Oh, is_  that _what my problem is? Just that?_

I bite my tongue because I know he doesn't deserve me snapping at him. Not when he's only trying to help...

You know what? Fuck it. Maybe he's right.

"I guess a break wouldn't hurt," I admit, nodding slowly. "It's not like I'm being productive at this point, anyway."


	88. Prejudice and Pancakes

**Prejudice and Pancakes**

I lean into Hank as we walk to the kitchen- not because I really need the support anymore, but because I just like being close to him. I'm healing decently fast so far, mostly thanks to the blood transfusion he gave me I'm sure.

"This is it," he tells me when we get to a large, open doorway. "How about I-?"

I don't give him a chance to finish the question because I'm too busy taking a look around for myself. And trust me, there's  _a lot_  to check out. This kitchen has all the bells and whistles I could ever imagine and then some. But I guess that isn't a surprise, is it? Everything about Xavier's is sort of perfect.

I've never seen such a modern kitchen before. Even that diner at Alkali Lake can't compare to the top-of-the-line ovens, ranges, and refrigerator units in here, all shiny stainless steel. There's even actual dishwashers! The cabinets are a deep walnut and the counter tops- all sparkly white tile- are lined with all kinds of electric mixers, high-quality cast iron, and I even spy some Crock-pots and microwaves. It's all the latest technology and it's hard to even decide what I want to make right now.

Just then I spot an electric griddle among all the fancy gadgets- or at least I  _think_  it is, because I've only ever read about them in magazines before. That decides me right then and there.

"I think I want to make pancakes," I announce. "Red velvet. With cream cheese batter."

"And the fight against breakfast stigmatization continues," Hank murmurs, with this indulgent, goofy grin. For now he only  _tolerates_  my quest for an end to culinary inequality, but one day...

He sits on a bar stool and watches, clearly amused, as I fiddle around with an electric mixer. The different speeds are a little hard to get used to.

"Shit!" I mutter when I send cocoa powder flying everywhere. Looks like  _that_  setting was too high.

Hank snickers.

"Hey," I snap. "Keep laughing and you won't get any pancakes."

"Yes, ma'am," he replies. He tries to look chastened but I can tell the jerk is still struggling not to laugh at my struggles here. Some people, man.

I've just gotten a handle on the situation when Havok, Cyclops, and Jean wander in.

"Hey, guys!" I say, in my best attempt at friendliness. Look at me, trying to be social. Someone give me a gold star.

Jean and Havok are cordial enough in response to my greeting, though Cyclops just sorta nods in acknowledgement. Thankfully by now I know better than to take it personally.

"Pancakes?" Jean guesses curiously.

"Yup."

Cyclops' eyebrows pucker together- his version of puzzled, I guess. "It's afternoon," he says. "Isn't it a little late for breakfast?"

I gasp in outrage, though I'm not too surprised. He's such a stick-in-the-mud about everything else, why not this too? I brandish a spatula at him. "Late?  _Breakfast_?"

And I give it everything I've got, this impassioned speech about how unfair it is that certain ghettoized, unfortunate foods are unfairly labeled as "breakfast" foods and how people should have the right to eat  _whatever_  they want,  _whenever_  they want, without a discriminatory label.

I'm actually pretty proud of myself.

But then Hank totally  _ruins_  the effect of my grand finale- an invitation to the others to officially join the resistance against breakfast stigmatization- by choking back laughter. Well great, now everyone else is going to think my life's cause is just a big joke.

"Is she serious?" Havok asks, obviously confused.

"Oh, she's completely serious," Hank assures him. Though again, he'd be more believable if he could  _stop smiling_. "Breakfast liberation is a cause that's quite near and dear to Vivien's heart."

"Today it's pancakes, tomorrow it's toast!" I add solemnly.

The blonde shakes his head. "God, she's just as weird as you are," he mutters to Hank. But then he grins a little.

"'Weird' is just another word for 'awesome,'" I retort, only half-joking.

Jean, Havok, and Hank all laugh, and even Cyclops looks like he might be about to smile. His lips twitch, at least.

"Do you want some help?" Jean offers.

I hesitate for a second- again, a kindly gesture from the redheaded girl. Friends, she wants to be _friends_ with me. And I don't know how to take it. I guess I'm kinda scared of what could happen if we become buddies or whatever. People who get close to me end up dying, and Jean's  _so_  good. She doesn't deserve to die. And neither does...

Instinctively, my gaze seek Hank's.

His eyebrows pucker slightly- he's too good at reading my face, I guess, to not know when something's wrong. Shit.

I quickly look away, take a deep breath, and smile at Jean. "Sure," I tell her. "Here, I'll show you how to make the sweet cream batter."

The others look on while Jean and I get to work, all of us chatting cordially. I still feel a little weirded out and uncertain over how to act around these guys, but I'm definitely making an effort to be social. And all of the X-Men are so obviously trying to make me feel welcome.

Well,  _almost_  all.

As if on cue, my two biggest fans- Storm and Angel- slink into the kitchen just then.

"What's going on here?" Angel whines, condescension dripping from every word.

The smile drops right off my face. I smell a shit storm brewing, and quick.

Great, just great.

Hank rises from his stool so fast it's like he's reacting on instinct, moving to my side automatically without even bothering to make it seem casual. I know the feral in him is on guard.

"We're making pancakes," Jean explains, almost aggressively cheerful. I have to give her props for not blinking over Bird Brain's piss-poor attitude. "Red velvet, with sweet cream batter. Do you want some?"

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon. Why the hell are you making pancakes?"

"Because Vixen's a rebel without a cause," Havok mutters.

"Hey," I protest, with a tentative grin. I take a stab at our teasing banter from earlier. "Breakfast liberation is my cause. Don't make fun of my cause and I won't make fun of your haircut."

Havok's eyes go wide in surprise, and his hand goes to his hair self-consciously.

Jean giggles, and to my amazement Cyclops snorts into his stack of pancakes.

_Well knock me over with a feather. I actually made Mr. Personality laugh. Another gold star for you, Vivien._

Hank chuckles, too. "I think that's the first time anyone's really taken Alex down a peg. Where were you when he kept calling me 'Bozo' when we were seventeen, darling?" he jokes.

"Busy being ten years old," I retort, grinning cheekily.

Everyone except Storm and Angel laughs as Hank's face turns red in embarrassment. He's still so easily rattled about the age difference between us. "Touche."

I giggle and stand on tiptoe to kiss him before I turn back towards Havok. "You know I was only kidding, right?" I ask, a little anxious now. I'm trying really hard to strike a balance here- I want the other X-Men to like me, if not for my sake then at least for Hank's- but I also don't want to pretend to be someone I'm not. I just don't have that in me.

Havok gives me a reassuring grin. "I figured," he replies. "I mean, we all know my hair is perfect."

The others laugh again- and even Angel seems like he might be about to smile.

But then-

"This all seems nice," Storm interjects. Her expression hasn't changed one damn bit from the sneer she adopted when she walked into the kitchen. "But aren't you supposed to be  _doing_  something?"

Well shit. She knew just where to jab, didn't she?

I wince and cast my eyes down, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me. I mean, she has a point. I  _should_  be working on the Brotherhood codes, not sitting here having fun-

"Vivien's been working very hard on breaking those codes," Hank says defensively. "I thought she could use a break."

Storm sneers. "So instead of working to stop the Brotherhood," she dryly observes, "you decided to have a pancake party? Do you even  _want_  to break those codes?"

My first instinct in the dead silence that follows is to reach out and claw her face off for her insolence. But I know that won't win me any points with this crowd. No, I have to be more diplomatic than that, even though her accusation is complete and utter  _bullshit._

I mean, it's fucking  _ridiculous_  to think that I'd be helping the Brotherhood after everything they did to me. So ridiculous that it's laughable.

And in that, I hit on an idea. Time to go all  _"A Modest Proposal"_  on this bitch.

I start laughing, breaking the uncomfortable silence that fell following Storm's question.

"Vivien," Hank murmurs uncomfortably. He probably thinks I've gone off the reservation or something.

Well, he might have a point on that one.

"What?" I ask in a feigned whisper. "Come on, baby, laugh. Storm just tried to make a joke. You're going to make her feel bad if you don't at least give a polite chuckle."

I turn towards the other girl, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

"You  _were_  just joking, right? I mean, you weren't  _really_  trying to imply that I'd be procrastinating on purpose to help those bastards after everything they've done to me and the people I cared about, were you?"

Storm sullenly glares at me, but I don't even blink. I keep a fake, syrupy-sweet smile on my face while I pretend to wait for a reply. I doubt she  _really_ believes I'm trying to help the Brotherhood- I mean, she's  _gotta_  be smarter than that, right? No, I'm betting she's trying to bait me into a fight. Right here and now.

You have no idea  _how_  tempting it is to teach this weather witch some manners.

But I know that's not the X-Man way. They're all about "turning the other cheek," treating their enemies with kindness, and all that shit. Rising to Storm's bait would just prove her and Angel right about me, and I'll be damned before I let that happen.

"That's what I thought," I say brightly after several seconds of tense, dead air. "Do you want some pancakes?"

Both Storm and Angel stare at me like I just offered them a plateful of snails.

"No thanks," Angel replies disdainfully. Not that I'm surprised.

"Oh well," I say with a shrug. "More for me!"

I take a bite with exaggerated enthusiasm, watching the other two awkwardly stand there, unsure of what to do now. I'd feel pity for them if they weren't hellbent on hating me so damn much.

"They're good, right?" I press the others.

"Delicious," Jean tells me, and Cyclops nods in agreement.

"Your cooking is always good, sweetheart," Hank assures me, as sweet as always.

"Whipped," Havok coughs. "But yeah, they're pretty good."

Jean and I giggle over Hank's pouting, keeping up the light-hearted exchange.

It's the final straw for Angel and Storm. They beat a hasty retreat from the scene of their embarrassment at my hands, barely bothering to mutter a goodbye.

The second they leave, the forced levity we'd been keeping up against them leaks out of the air like a balloon. None of us can quite manage to look at each other as we pick at our pancakes. The guilt and anxiety hangs too heavy in the atmosphere for us to really enjoy it.

"I'm proud of you," Hank whispers to me suddenly.

"For what?"

"For not turning Ororo into a pile of dog kibble."

I try to smile. "I considered it," I murmur. "But then I thought about the clean up. I think it's better to just stay with Jonathan Swift's playbook."

Hank chuckles, obviously getting the literary reference right away. God, I love him.

"What's so funny?" Havok asks through a mouthful of pancakes. Ew.

"Vivien was just saying that she wants to use Jonathan Swift's approach when it comes to Storm and Angel," my husband explains. When the others just stare at him blankly he adds, "he was an Irish satirist who believed in illustrating the absurd with the absurd."

The smile on Hank's face as he looks down at me gives me butterflies.

"Things like eating children, for example. Or pointing out how ridiculous it would be to think that someone would try to help an organization that murdered all of their friends."

Havok nods, his expression troubled.

It's easy to guess why he's worried. I mean, it's obvious that me being here has caused a big fat divide in the X-Men. How is this team going to stop the Brotherhood when they're too busy bickering among themselves over  _me?_

Trouble. All I bring is fucking  _trouble._

"They'll come around," Jean assures me, her face all shiny with hope. "Just give them time."

I shrug. "I'm a realist, Jean. I don't have any delusions of universal popularity," I admit. "I just..."

The weak words slip out before I can stop them.

"I just wish they'd try to get to know me before they decided to hate my guts."

An uncomfortable silence falls.

_My fault, my fault_ , I think as I pick at my food.

The X-Men are falling apart because of me. They distrust me and think I'm not trying hard enough to do my part in bringing the Brotherhood down.

Well maybe they have a point. After all, I'm just sitting here eating pancakes when I could be-

"Go ahead and leave the dishes, I'll get them later," I tell the others, looking away from them all. "I'm going to get back to work on those codes."

"Darling-"

"It's fine, baby," I interject, faking a smile. "Really. I need to focus on that or I'm never going to get it done."

And with one quick kiss I head back to work.


	89. The Same Side Now

**The Same Side Now**

"I have news for you, darling," Hank says that night as we get ready for bed.

I glance up at him, noticing a slight tightness in his jaw despite his smile. I wonder why?

"Oh?"

"Alex wants you to start training in the Danger Room tomorrow."

That perks me right up, pulling me out of the funk I've been in since that little fiasco in the kitchen earlier with Storm. And then of course my mood wasn't helped by the fact that I'm still hitting a brick wall with the Brotherhood codes, too.

So the idea of training with the X-Men, actually doing something  _helpful_  against the Brotherhood, is a welcome one.

"I've been wanting to see the Danger Room ever since you told me about it," I tell Hank now. "You made it sound so amazing whenever you talked about training."

This time he can't hide the reluctance I only sensed before. He tries to smile but can't quite manage it.

"What's with the face?" I demand. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be an X-Man?"

Hank winces. "Yes, but..." He reaches out and gently brushes his hand across my stomach, indicating the long, ugly gash hidden beneath the shirt I-  _appropriated_  from him to sleep in.

I know he tried his best but the wound is admittedly pretty hideous. The jagged line of the stitching kinda reminds me of Frankenstein's monster. Looks like there won't be any bikinis for  _me_  this summer.

But it's ok, really. At least I'm  _alive,_  and healing up decently fast to boot. So much so that I think Hank is being his usual over-protective self on this one.

"You're such a worrywart," I laugh. "I feel just fine."

I scoot closer and snuggle against him.

"And I'm really looking forward to seeing the uniform you made for me."

Now Hank smiles for real- a beautiful, tentatively optimistic smile that tells me how much he hopes I like what he made for me. I have no doubt I'll love it. I mean, knowing Hank he's probably already thought of everything I would ever want in a uniform and then some shit I never would've even dreamed of.

His adorable expression makes me laugh. "That's more like it," I tell him, with a kiss.

* * *

May 26, 1975

We go down to the basement a little earlier than everyone else so I can try on my suit.

My first emotion upon seeing my all- black X-Men uniform is  _relief-_  I was scared Hank would try to stick me in a black, blue, and yellow get-up like the rest of the X-Men. The splashes of color are much too gaudy for my taste, but thankfully it seems he knew better than that.

The material is sturdy and solid black, form-fitting from my neck to my wrists and ankles with matching finger-less gloves. Paired with my trusty old boots, it's quite fetching (in my humble opinion). If I only had more boobs to fill out the top, right?

"I'm glad you didn't make mine the same color as everyone else's," I comment to Hank, turning this way and that to check out my jumpsuit from all angles in the locker room mirror. "The blue is ok, but yellow is  _not_  my color. Black is more my style."

"Uh-huh," Hank replies absently from his seated position on a bench nearby. He's already in his own uniform, fuzzy and blue.

I glance over at him, puzzled over his nonchalance. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says quickly. He grins. "Just... admiring the view, is all."

I laugh and sashay over to him, slipping my hands around his neck. Hank puts his on my waist and looks up at me with an adorably lovesick smile on his face. It's moments like this, with him, that I feel  _truly_  beautiful.

"Well, are you going to tell me about my uniform or are you going to stare at my ass all day?" I tease.

"Don't tempt me," he murmurs cheekily. But then he can't resist the chance to show me all the gadgets he put on my new uniform. "Your suit has reinforced body armor through the torso to protect your vital organs."

"Doesn't feel like it."

Hank grins. "That's the point. I considered putting you in a big suit of armor-"

I roll my eyes.

"-But I suspected that would be too heavy for you to move around in. This is a compromise," he explains. "Then you have a sheath for each of your knives-"

He gestures to the spots on my hips and a small holster apparatus that crisscrosses my back where all of my knives fit perfectly. My last pair, I'm guessing, are meant to be stuck in my boots like usual.

"And you also have a utility belt for anything you want to carry that  _doesn't_  fit in your boots."

I laugh- looks like he knows me too well.

"But the best part is these," Hank tells me. He takes my hands in his and holds them between us, palms up.

I look at him curiously, because there doesn't seem to be anything special about these gloves. They look just like his, covering the backs of our hands, palms, wrists and forearms but finger-less so we can use our claws.

"Here, let's go in so I can show you."

I let him lead me into the Danger Room- another large room with featureless, stark white walls. It's not nearly on the same scale as Cerebro, but the lack of color and other landmarks is a little disorientating.

Hank pulls out one of my knives from God-knows-where and hands it to me.

I recognize it as one of the several I stole from Stryker's men back at Alkali Lake so many months ago. I thought this one was gone for good, though, because I threw it at Cyclops' head the other night at that horrible lab and didn't have a chance to get it back. Looks like Hank picked it up for me. What a prince this man is.

"Go ahead and throw this at the wall," he orders.

Puzzled, I do as he says. The knife lands in the wall with a solid thud, several feet away.

Wordlessly, he reaches out and takes my hand in his. He raises it and makes a small, inward flicking motion with my wrist.

The knife immediately comes whizzing back towards us, handle first, allowing me to catch it with ease.

I can't help the delighted gasp I let out. I look up at Hank, letting my face do the talking

"I've noticed that in combat you run the risk of losing your knives once you've thrown them," he explains. "The other night, for example, after you nailed Cyclops in the head. You wouldn't have gotten that one back if I hadn't grabbed it for you. So I designed a way for you to call your knives back to you. See, there's a transponder in the handle of each one that will respond to that flicking motion I just showed you. They'll come straight back to the sensor in the palms of your gloves. What do you think?"

I laugh and throw my arms around his neck. "I think it's perfect of course," I tell him honestly. "Thank you, baby. Have I told you lately how absolutely  _amazing_  you are?"

And then I stand on tiptoe and pull him down for a kiss, to thank him for all the hard work I know he put into this uniform for me. To my surprise he tugs me in closer, pressing my body against his and teasing my lips with his tongue.

His enthusiasm surprises me at first, however welcome it is. I get that Hank's relieved that I like what he made for me (though let's be honest, how could I  _not_?) but his reaction seems to hint that there's more to this passionate outburst than that.

Maybe... maybe it's because he's  _finally_  letting himself be happy that we're on the same team now, instead of worrying about my injury? That he's glad we get to fight side-by-side from now on-

I'm really starting to enjoy myself when a wolf-whistle sounds from behind Hank. We were so distracted that we didn't notice that we had company.

Hank pulls away from me, breathing heavily, and turns to see who it is. I peer around him to see Havok and Cannonball watching us.

"Ahem," Havok coughs. He seems both amused and embarrassed for catching us in the middle of such a heavy make out session. "Weren't you supposed to be showing Vixen her new uniform?"

"He did," I reply brightly. "You just interrupted me thanking him for a job well done."

Cannonball snickers, which of course makes Hank turn bright purple.

Havok's lips twitch, like he's stifling a smile. For a second I think he's just going to take the joke and move on from there. But no. "I'm glad you like it, but try to lay off the PDA in here, ok?" he says seriously. "We're here to focus on training."

"Ok," I mutter, taking a pointed step away from Hank to illustrate that I get it.

Hank shuffles his feet awkwardly and nods, obviously still mortified.

"In here, you're Beast and Vixen," Havok continues. "Not Hank and Vivien."

Talk about beating a dead horse, damn.

"Got it."

"You're not married, you're just teammates-"

"I got it, Havok," I interject, struggling to keep myself from snapping at him. I don't need a goddamn lecture, for Christ's sake.

"Ok, good. And would you mind putting your hair up?" he adds. "I don't want it getting in the way."

Is he fucking serious?

I roll my eyes, praying for patience. All the other shit we have to worry about, and he's seriously worried about my  _hair_? I've been on this team for about five seconds and I'm already irritated.

_For Hank,_ I remind myself firmly _. You're doing this for Hank._

For his sake I reach into my boot without comment and pull out a hair tie to wrap my hair into a bun on top of my head. "Anything else, Fearless Leader?"

_Are you done being an ass yet, Havok?_

"No, that's it for now," he replies calmly.

_For now._

I make a face at him and sigh.

Jean and the other X-Men show up at that moment, a welcome distraction at this point.

Hank closes the distance between us. "He's not saying these things to be domineering, sweetheart," he murmurs softly, so no one else can hear.

"I know," I agree with another sigh. "I tell myself that, but you know how much I  _love_  being told what to do."

He looks like he wants to say something, but Havok beats him too it. "Alright," he announces. "Let's get started. Now, we've got a new teammate with us today, so I thought we could go around and describe our powers. Vixen, you go first."

"I already know all of your powers," I note, grinning wryly as I think of all the tussles I've had with these guys in the past. "And you know mine."

"Just go with it," Hank murmurs quietly. "It's tradition."

Seriously? We're going to waste time with stupid traditions instead of training to go against the Brotherhood? They can take their dumb ass traditions and-

_For Hank, remember._

I take a deep breath and say, "alright. My powers: I'm fast, agile, pretty strong for someone my size, and I've got super senses. I wouldn't call it a power, really, but I've got a knack for getting into places I shouldn't be, and I'm good with knives and blowing stuff up." I shrug. "That's it, I guess."

"Good," Havok says. "Marvel Girl, you next."

And so we go around the group, going through a stupid show-and-tell to make the X-Geeks happy and satisfy their tradition.

When we're done Havok clears his throat and eyes us all seriously. "There's no point hiding from the elephant in the room," he tells us. "Vixen was a part of the Brotherhood, and all of us have fought against her at some point or another. And I don't know about you guys, but I've never been able to beat her in a fair fight."

Well hey now- I had no idea he held my skills in such high esteem. Color me surprised.

And maybe a little flattered.

"So I think we should use that to our advantage. Yeah, I can try to point out area that we all need to work on here in training, but it's different being on the other side, in combat," Havok continues. "Vixen, before we do anything else, how about you point out some weaknesses you've noticed when fighting us in the past?"

The request startles me, but I can see how much sense it makes. Who better to tell the X-Men where they're falling short in their skills than someone who's fought- and beaten- them all before?

So yeah, it makes sense.

But how are the others going to take it?  _Me_  telling them where and how they suck at their jobs? No one particularly likes criticism, even if it's helpful. And me being a former Brotherhood member...

I eye all of them warily, taking note of the disdain on Storm's face in particular.

Oh yeah, this is going to go fan-fucking-tastically.


	90. Lessons Learned

**Lessons Learned**

Here goes everything, I guess.

"Havok, you favor your right hand too much," I tell him. "It's easy to dodge a hit when you know what side it's coming from."

And then of course if a certain someone dislocates your right shoulder you're basically fucked, right?

Havok obviously remembers the incident well, because he grimaces and nods in agreement.

"Marvel Girl, you always seem to hesitate before attacking," I observe after a moment's thought. "Like you're scared to really hurt anyone. Trust me, the Brotherhood notices. It costs you a lot, especially when you're going against Quicksilver. You are  _so_  strong, and you shouldn't be scared to show it, you know?"

Jean casts her eyes down sheepishly, but nods as well.

One by one I tell the X-Men what their weaknesses are, basically giving up the only edge the Brotherhood has had against their superior numbers. I'm becoming more of a traitor by the day, aren't I?

As if I care anymore.

The X-Men take it surprisingly well, though I purposely don't offer Hank any advice. Let's be honest- his biggest weakness in any fight is  _me._  Pointing that out in front of the others would just be awkward and the poor thing has already reached his quota for embarrassment for the day.

"No offense, Angel, but you wear too much cologne," I say, and I can't help being a little apologetic about it. Just add another tally to the reasons why Bird Brain doesn't like me. "Even the Brotherhood members who  _don't_  have super senses can smell you coming. And Storm, you-"

"Do we  _really_  need to listen to this?" Storm interjects. "I don't get why we should listen to her, anyway."

Oh boy, here we go.

"I don't know, Storm," Cannonball replies sarcastically. "Maybe because she took down most of the team in about thirty seconds by herself the other night? She knows what she's talking about. I think she's had some fair points, personally."

Aw, I think now I might have to forgive him for setting Hank up with that twit, Lucy.

Storm grinds her teeth in frustration.

Everyone looks at me expectantly. The ball's in my court, I guess.

Great, just great.

"Storm, you rely on your powers too much," I explain warily, because I know this is going to go over like a lead balloon. "It's easy to catch you flat-footed-"

No matter how easy I try to break it to her- and trust me, I  _am_  trying- Storm doesn't take the criticism well. Like,  _at all_.

As I speak, the girl starts to puff up with indignation. I can feel static vibrating in the air, electricity crackling like a coming thunderstorm.

Still, I press on.

"-Because you're not used to close-quarters combat. I think if you focused more on that for a while, you could really-"

Storm sends a bolt of lightning right at me, which I kinda expected at this point. I dodge the blast with ease.

"Storm!" Hank snarls.

"Flat-footed, huh?" the girl sneers.

"Yup."

She sends another bolt at me, but I evade it again.

All of the other X-Men back away- I guess they're scared of getting hit. Flower of bravery, the whole lot of them. Hank's the only one who tries to step forward, but Havok stops him.

Looks like I'm on my own for this, then.

I give ground to Storm's lightning strikes, purposely lulling her into a false sense of security. She's so focused on trying to nail me with a fucking  _lightning bolt_  that she doesn't notice when I start inching closer and closer, letting my dodging bring me back within my own range.

And then it's too late for her.

I spring at Storm, leaping ten feet right over her head. I touch down, feet-first, against the wall behind her and then rebound off the wall, twisting in midair to land directly in front of the other girl. As I move through the air I feel a stabbing pain in my stomach, but I'm too focused to pay it much mind.

I'm less than two feet away from her, but Storm is so shocked that I popped up in front of her like a fucking daisy to even react.

"See?" I say brightly. "Flat-footed."

And then I thrust the heel of my hand up against her nose, breaking it. Storm immediately whimpers in pain as the blood gushes down her face.

"Ow!" she cries, covering her nose with her hands.

Oh, boo-fucking-who.

I hear Havok groan. "I get that she needed to prove the point, but did she  _really_  need to break Storm's nose?" he mutters.

My head snaps around to look at him, standing next to Hank- who, by the way, looks like he's about to have a fucking brain aneurysm. Looks like Havok told him not to step in to help me, and Hank listened.

I honestly don't know how I feel about that.

"Did she  _really_  need to try to hit me with a goddamn lightning bolt?" I snap indignantly. "If she's going to start something, I'll finish-"

Ouch. What the hell-?

Just then the stabbing pain I felt in my abdomen when I was fighting Storm comes back with a vengeance, causing me to wince. I press my hand against my stomach, and when I pull it away it's covered with fresh blood. I'm guessing all of the movement ripped a few of the stitches out of my skin.

I look up to see Hank looking (predictably) horrified.

"Shit," I mutter. "I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

My mate immediately rushes over and scoops me up. There's a stunned, guilty silence from the others as he runs with me in his arms out of the Danger Room.

Hank doesn't say a word, either, but I can tell he's  _pissed._  I can see it in his jawline and feel it in the way he's squeezing me, almost on the verge of too tightly.

It's actually a little frightening, if I'm being honest with myself, to see him like this.

"How mad are you?" I ask quietly after he sets me on a hospital bed in the infirmary.

"Mad?" he repeats, his voice tight. He starts gathering up a bunch of surgical tools. "I'm not mad, I'm  _furious_."

Damn, he's probably angry that I hurt myself again. Though to be fair, what was I  _supposed_  to do in there? Just  _let_  myself get struck by lightning? It's not like anyone stepped up to help me, Jesus.

I can't hide my dismay over the conundrum.

"Not at you, love," Hank assures me quickly, unzipping my uniform and peering down at the gash on my stomach. "I'm angry with Storm for acting like a petulant child who can't take criticism and then trying to hurt you. I'm furious with Alex, for having you start training already even though you're still wounded. And then allowing that little showdown between you and Storm to go this far. But I think I'm the most upset with myself."

"Baby-"

He shakes his head as he finishes his prep work, giving me a shot of lidocaine to dull the pain.

"I shouldn't have let Alex convince me that this was necessary, so soon after you getting hurt," he says firmly. "And then I actually  _listened_  to him when he told me to stand down. Instead of protecting my mate I just stood there and watched Storm try her damnedest to kill you like some sort of mindless robot."

I open my mouth to argue with Hank, to defend him from himself, but my conscience stops me. Maybe he's being a  _bit_  hard on himself, but if he  _really_  had an objection to me training today he should have stood up to Havok, leader or not. Sometimes there's a difference between following the  _rules_  and doing what's  _right,_  you know? I don't think Hank understood that before.

Maybe now he's learning.

"Well, I'm not dead," I offer finally, grinning. "You need to stop being so hard on yourself, baby."

"No," he replies firmly. "This isn't going to happen again, Vivien. I don't really care much if anyone walks all over  _me,_  but in a situation like this, when your life is on the line... Your safety is too important to jeopardize because I'm too weak-willed to say anything. Never again, darling."

He leans down to kiss me before he starts stitching me up.

I watch Hank work, noting the familiar intensity and focus come over his face, the same certainty he had when he fixed me up after Havok burned my arm. It's the same, but... there's something  _new_  in his expression. A resolve that wasn't there before.

He just finishes zipping up my jumpsuit over a new set of bandages when Charles and Havok walk into the infirmary, escorting a still-bleeding Storm. I glance over at them, but I can't help noticing that Hank pointedly ignores the others as he gathers up his tools.

"Vivien, Ororo has something to say to you," Charles announces calmly.

Well this'll be good.

I raise my eyebrows incredulously.

Storm sighs, a very nasally sound because she's pinching her nose shut to stop the bleeding. "Vixen, I'm really sor-" she begins in a monotone voice.

I chuckle and hold up a hand to halt the fake-ass apology. "Let's not say thing we don't mean, Storm," I tell her wryly. "We both know the Professor is making you do this."

Charles has the grace to look guilty when I throw a pointed glance his way.

Storm nods sullenly.

_That's what I thought,_  I think bitterly.  _Seriously, Charles?_

_It was worth a shot,_  his voice whispers in my head. I can sense his silent disappointment. _I thought, since she's witnessed your strength firsthand..._

_She'll hate me even_  more?  _Good thinking, Professor._

Storm made up her mind to hate me the moment we met, and I don't see anything changing that.  _Definitely_  not me breaking her nose, at least. It hurts, but that's the way it is.

I grin over Storm's brutal honesty, trying to hide the sting. She's very powerful and strong-willed, and I know for a fact that she's intensely loyal to the people she cares about. Neither of us are willing to play the Professor's game of pretending to kiss and make up, and I respect her for that. She's the kind of person I wouldn't mind admiring- if only she wasn't such a stubborn bitch.

"That's what I thought," I murmur. "So, I'm willing to accept an apology from you when it's sincere, but until then just save your breath. Half-assed apologies are beneath you. Now excuse me-"

I lay my head down and close my eyes.

"I've been bleeding out a little too often for my own liking these past few days, and I think I could use a nap."

Charles sighs in defeat. "Very well, then. Beast, could you help Storm with-?"

"There's an ice pack in the freezer," Hank replies stiffly. "There's nothing else I can do for her."

_Brrr._

He doesn't say the words aloud, but Hank's tone make it perfectly clear that even if there _was_ more he could do to help Storm, he wouldn't. She managed to piss off one of the nicest, most retiring people on the planet. That takes some talent, man.

Havok clears his throat uncomfortably. "I'll get it," he mutters.

I hear shuffling beside me, the sound of a freezer opening and closing.

"Ororo, I suggest that you take some Tylenol and rest," the Professor says quietly. "Keep icing your face, and I'll check on you soon."

"Ok."

I hear Storm turn to go. I don't know why, but something makes me blurt out, "Storm."

The girl's footsteps halt.

"Just so you know, I meant what I was trying to say in there," I say honestly, eyes still closed. "Before you tried to fry me, I mean. I think that if you focused on honing your hand-to-hand skills, you'd be unstoppable."

Storm says nothing before she turns to leave again.

Well then. At least I tried, right?

"Hank," Charles entreats, once Storm's footsteps have died away. "What's wrong, my friend?"

"What's  _wrong_?" Hank snarls, almost startling me into opening my eyes. "What's  _wrong_  is that I was forced to stand by while my wife was fired upon, despite being promised that we'd take it slow at first. I didn't even _want_ her to start training yet, but my medical opinion was overruled. And now look at her- we've set back her recovery even further."

I hear Havok shuffling on his feet. "Sorry, Beast," he mutters. "I honestly thought you were just being overprotective about your girl."

"Easy assumption to make," I mutter. I finally open my eyes and glance up at Hank, who's still looking decidedly  _grumpy,_ like an overprotective blue teddy bear. "But give Hank more credit than that, Havok. He knows he can't get away with babying me  _too_  much, or I'll knock him into next week."

Havok sighs. "Alright," he grunts. "I really am sorry you were hurt again, Vivien. Lesson learned."

Fry Boy goes up about ten points in my book for that apology. It takes a lot for a guy like him to admit that he was wrong about something, after all.

And was that the first time he called me by my name? I think it was.  _Wow._

"Apology accepted,  _Alex,_ " I reply, with a grin.


	91. Breakthrough

**Breakthrough**

May 27, 1975

"Do me a favor and take it easy today, darling?" Hank asks me hopefully the next morning, pretty much the moment I blink my eyes halfway-open. It makes me wonder if he didn't sleep last night, it's so early.

I raise my head from its place on his chest to tell him to at least wait until I'm fully  _awake_  before he starts badgering me, but the second I see his big blue eyes looking at me so earnestly the words die in my throat. That's not fucking  _fair_. " _How_  easy, exactly?"

"Well, I can bring you the Brotherhood printouts and anything else you might need and you can work on everything here, in bed," he offers. Jesus, could he be any more transparent?

Damn. I can't tell him to  _bite me_  when he looks that sincere, no matter  _how_  over-dramatic I think he's being. Not when I can't shake the thought of that expression on his face yesterday, when he saw me hurt again, and the evidence of his sleepless night in the shadows under his eyes.

I sigh. "Only if you bring me breakfast in bed," I mutter sullenly.

"Deal," Hank immediately agrees. I think he's relieved that I'm not going to argue. "Thank you, Vivien."

He tenderly cups my face in his hand and pulls me close for a kiss. Soft and gentle at first, but more intense by the second as our shared passion catches fire. I purr against his lips and carefully adjust, gingerly swinging a leg over his hips so I'm on top of him. Hank growls low in his throat, his hands tracing along my thighs, up my back.

I bite his lip and start to trail my hands down his chest, teasing along the waistline of his pajamas. He growls again and shifts over so I'm laying on the bed and he's halfway on top of me, kissing me breathless. One arm supports his weight, while the other hand slips under my sleeping shirt again.

His fingers graze across the stitches on my stomach-

Hank breaks off our kisses with a gasp.

I open my eyes to see why he stopped- we were just getting  _started,_  if you know what I mean- to see that his own eyes are sunset gold and there are flashes of blue playing across his skin. Suddenly he squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face in the pillow my head is resting on, breathing shakily through his nose.

"Hank?" I ask, confused.

After a minute he shifts backward enough that I can see his face again. I notice that his eyes are changed, no longer fiery with passion but instead ocean blue and... well, not  _calm._  I almost feel like I detect a hint of  _guilt_  in his gaze. What the hell is that about?

"I apologize," Hank murmurs, his tone oddly formal considering what we were just doing. "I believe I promised you breakfast."

I try to protest. "But-"

Hank ignores the objection and hastily gets out of bed-  _and_  out of my arms- to change into clothes and leave the room.

The withdrawal hurts.  _A lot._

I mean, what gives? We're newlyweds still. I thought that phase of not being able to keep our hands off of each other was supposed to last  _a lot_  longer than less than a week. I know I definitely  _wanted_  it to.

A tiny, more sensible part of me wonders if this is because I'm still hurt, but my pride shuts the thought down. Just because I'm injured doesn't mean we can't have intimacy between us. We could be  _careful,_  damn. Honestly, I think some nice, sweet lovemaking would be just what the doctor ordered for both of us.

But no.

I won't lie- my feelings are hurt. Even if Hank has good intentions, his withdrawal leaves me feeling undesirable. Unwanted. It may not make any sense in a logical way but it's how I feel, all the same.

Am I going to let Hank know this? Hell no. I've got too much pride for that, no matter  _how_  weak and squishy Hank usually makes me feel. And anyway, I need to focus on code-cracking right now. My relationship drama takes a back seat to figuring this shit out.

By the time he returns, bearing a plateful of eggs and bacon as well as the Brotherhood printouts for me, I've managed to paste a smile on my face in greeting. The kiss he gives me is only a small balm for my wounded vanity, though I don't show it.

I've got a job to do.

* * *

As promised, I stay in bed working on the Brotherhood files while Hank putters around slowly, getting ready for the day.

At first it's more of the same, beating my head against a brick wall trying to figure out these codes. It's so  _aggravating,_  because I feel like the answer is right out my reach, on the edge of my awareness. Something about these words seems extremely familiar, like a half-forgotten childhood dream.

I have this weird feeling that the key to all of this has something to do with my mother, but how does that make any sense? She's been dead for over a decade now. There's no way she could have anything to do with this, right?

The frustration continues until something prompts me to start reading the words aloud.

And then it all clicks.

"Oh my God," I say, sitting up straighter in bed.

"What is it sweetheart?" Hank asks. He stands, completely dressed.

"Hank, I've got it! I've figured it out!" I crow gleefully, gingerly scrambling out of bed. "Quick, I need to see the Professor."

Hank looks like he wants to ask questions, but holds his tongue while he helps me downstairs. It's slow going, of course. Reopening my stitches put me back to pretty much square one on my recovery.

I don't need to tell you how much that  _sucks._

Still, we manage to make it to Charles' room within minutes.

_Come in,_  the Professor's mental voice murmurs after Hank's polite knock.

We find Charles in his sitting area, drinking tea while wearing a tweed bathrobe and house slippers. All he's missing is a pipe, I swear.

"You two are up early this morning," he observes. "Is something wrong?"

"I broke the code," I explain proudly.

He sits up straighter. "You did?" he asks. "Come, sit down."

There's only one other chair in Charles' sitting area, so Hank ends up pulling me down into his lap to sit across from the eagerly awaiting Professor.

_You want to be all cuddly_ now _, huh?_ I think to myself bitterly _. But what about earlier?_

I shove the resentment from my mind and refocus on the task at hand. "It's actually not really a code at all," I explain, spreading the papers across the tea table. "Have you guys heard of code-talkers before?"

"Yes," Hank replies, though Charles looks puzzled. "The information was declassified a few years ago-"

Which explains the Professor's cluelessness. He was too busy climbing into a bottle at the time.

"-That the United States military used the Navajo language as the basis for a code, mainly in the Pacific theater. It was never broken by the Axis powers."

"Right," I agree, "but did you know that the Navajo weren't the first code-talkers?"

Hank raises his eyebrows curiously. "Really?"

"Nope. Choctaw Indians in France during World War I were. The Germans weren't able to break their codes, either," I tell him. I chuckle and kiss him on the cheek. "I can't believe I know something historical that you don't. Maybe I should savor this moment."

"Don't rub it in, darling," he grumbles. "What does that have to do with this?"

"I kept thinking that this stuff seemed so familiar, like something I couldn't quite remember," I explain. "But then I started to say it out loud, and it clicked. These documents are in Choctaw. My grandfather was actually one of those code-talkers back in the day- my mom taught me the language when I was little. I'm not used to seeing it written, and that's why I didn't get it at first. And it's not like I speak it every day, anyway." I shake my head in exasperation. "Still, I can't believe it took me this long to figure out."

"At least you did it, though," Hank assures me, kissing my shoulder. "What do you think, Charles?"

"It makes sense in a way, I suppose," the telepath murmurs thoughtfully. "Stryker comes from a military family. It would be quite clever of him to use an obscure language previously utilized as a code in combat for his own purposes. Do your brothers know this language? Does Erik know that you're familiar with it?"

I shake my head. "No on both questions. They never had the patience for academics. And we take after our dad in the looks department," I muse. All three of us are pale, blonde, and freckly- like Dad was. We got her eyes, but otherwise we look nothing like Mom, with her dark hair and light russet skin, at all. "No one would realize we're part Indian unless we mention it. And I don't see Magneto randomly asking my brothers if we happen to have Choctaw blood, let alone if any of us could speak the language. He probably thought I wouldn't be able to do anything with this-"

I start gathering up the files on the table.

"-And that's why he hasn't made a move yet," I continue. "I'll have these all written out by tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

Charles grins. "You're a treasure, Vivien."

I laugh and shake my head over the undeserved compliment, but Hank gently squeezes me closer. "That she is," he agrees proudly. "Have you been making any progress with Stryker, Charles?"

Oh shit.

I have to admit- I haven't really thought of the kooky scientist much since I delivered him into Charles' care. I've been too busy puzzling over the Brotherhood files, for one thing.

And then I also still hate that fucker with every fiber of my being for what he did to Myles. I don't want to think about him, about how different my life would have been if it weren't for Stryker torturing my brother into madness. Saving his life changed nothing- if anything, the fact that I pitied him that much just makes me hate him even more.

Charles sighs. "Not much, I'm afraid," he admits. "What Mastermind did to him- how can I explain it? I've put as much of Stryker's mind back together as I could, but it's like a shattered mirror. Some of the pieces are too fragmented to repair, and even what I've manged to mend will never be whole again."

"So he's stuck like how I found him forever?" I ask. The thought's unsettling, even for that guy.

"Not quite as bad as that," Charles replies. "He has his moments of lucidity-"

His expression darkens.

"-Though sometimes I wonder if it's better for him to remain unaware," he murmurs. When he sees our confusion he elaborates. "I'm sure you've wondered how a man like Major William Stryker ended up helping Erik create a mutagenic weapon of mass destruction."

We both nod.

"It wasn't by choice," the telepath tells us. "From what I can gather, Erik, Mastermind, and Fox broke into Stryker's house and managed to kidnap him, his wife and young son. The Brotherhood then held his family hostage and forced him to create both the formula and the mechanism to dispense it. Mastermind's powers- and the torture Fox and Jackal put Mrs. Stryker and young Jason through- kept him docile most of the time, but recently he managed to briefly break free of the control and kill his wife and son."

Oh my God.

"His own wife?" Hank repeats, holding me tighter against him. "His own  _child_?"

Hank's horror doesn't surprise me- for all the trouble he's seen, he's still an optimist by nature. A doctor who preserves life above all else. He doesn't understand that in a hopeless situation death can be a welcome escape.

"If they're dead, the Brotherhood can't hurt them anymore," I explain sadly. "My- my  _brothers_  can't hurt them anymore. How could I have been so blind to what was happening? Did I miss something-?"

"Darling, no," Hank murmurs soothingly. He reaches out and takes my hands in his, prying my fingers open because I was unconsciously digging my claws into my palms. "I'm sure they purposely hid all traces from you, because they knew you wouldn't stand for it."

"Hank's right," Charles agrees, his tone bleak. "Erik couldn't definitively prove that it was you who helped Spyke escape the Brotherhood months ago, but he had his suspicions. Once he decided on this course of action he thought it best to keep you completely in the dark, because he knew you would oppose it."

"Wanda? Peter?" I ask desperately. My brothers hiding this from me is one thing, but the twins? "Did they know?"

"I don't think they knew everything, but they're aware of some of it," he replies reluctantly.

I instinctively turn and bury my head in Hank's shoulder for a moment.

_Why_  does this still hurt me? The twins stood by and watched while Mastermind tried to  _brainwash_  me, for Christ's sake. But finding out they kept this from me for so long, yet  _another_  betrayal on top of everything else, is salt in an open wound.

Did Stryker deserve what he got? Debatable, in my opinion. There's a certain poetic justice in a guy who himself descends into madness after pushing countless others over the edge of sanity. His attempts to turn over a new leaf could be construed as too little, too late.

But his wife and kid? No way in hell they deserved what happened to them.

Goddammit, I'm pitying Stryker again.

I clear my throat and look at Charles again. "I want to see him," I announce. "I want to see Stryker."

The Professor eyes me steadily for a long moment, a mixture of empathy and reluctance clear in his gaze.

"Very well."


	92. Equalizer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credit to Mayday Parade for the song "You Be the Anchor that Keeps My Feet on the Ground, I'll Be the Wings that Keep Your Heart In the Clouds."

**Equalizer**

Hank and I excuse ourselves to go stand in the hallway while we wait for Charles to dress himself.

We're quiet for a moment, but I can feel my husband staring at me in that way that tells me he's got something to say. It's making the side of my head start to smoke, for Christ's sake.

Sure enough-

"Why do you want to see him, Vivien?" Hank asks softly. "Is it because you feel guilty? Because you shouldn't, darling, you heard what Charles said-"

I silence him with a gentle finger pressed to his lips.

"No, baby. I get what the Professor said, for the most part. It's more like..."

I look away, wincing as I try to articulate these disparate thoughts into words.

"I'm not sure how to make you understand," I whisper. "You've never hated someone like that. I used to hate Stryker  _so much_ , like this vicious burning in my soul. I used to dream about killing him, about every horrible, painful thing that could possibly happen to a person happening to him."

"And now it has," Hank murmurs.

I nod sadly. "And now it has," I agree. "And it's not that I feel like my wishing for it somehow  _made_  all of this happen, it's just... I didn't think about how it would affect the people who loved him. His son, his wife- they didn't deserve to suffer because Stryker is a big, fat douchebag. But they did, and..."

I shrug helplessly.

Isn't it crazy, how even what some would view as  _fair_  and  _true_  justice still ends up hurting innocent people? Even crazy murderers have moms who must weep when their children get sent to the electric chair for their crimes. Those who love a wrongdoer end up getting punished for that love. That's not really fair to them, is it? Meaning even those who carry out justice end up hurting the innocent.

So around and around we go, with no one's hands left unclean.

Hank wraps his arms around me, holding me close. "I understand, sweetheart," he assures me quietly.

We stand there like that, taking comfort from each other's nearness, until Charles joins us.

"Shall we?" he prompts.

He leads us just down the hall to an area that I haven't been to before- though to be fair, it's not like I've been up for exploring the mansion since I got here. Losing a couple internal organs really takes away your sense of adventure. At least for a little while.

Charles halts in front of a door just like the others, except this one has signs of life behind it.

"-The weekend, Emily," I faintly hear a male voice say through the wood. "What do you think?"

I tilt my head, listening curiously. "Who's he talking to?" I mutter.

"His wife and son," Charles replies sadly.

Fuck me. This is how he is  _after_  the Professor tried to fix him?

Suddenly I'm not sure I want to see Stryker anymore. To see how much my brothers truly broke him and wonder if maybe I'd hated him a little less this would be different somehow.

I grip Hank's arm instinctively as Charles leans forward and knocks.

A moment later, Major William Stryker answers the door.

Jesus Christ, I almost can't believe it's him.

Stryker's managed to age about twenty-five years in the space of a few days. His hair is streaked with white and his face is completely ashen. He's unshaven, unwashed, and wearing an undershirt and boxer shorts under a thick, black bathrobe- a far cry from the crisp and shiny military man who kidnapped my brother.

"Charles!" Stryker says cheerfully. "Come in, Emily was just finishing breakfast."

"Thank you, William," Charles replies calmly. "Do you mind that I brought some guests?"

"Not at all," the other man assures him, beckoning us inside. "Come in, come in. Emily- better put on some more eggs and bacon!"

The smell that wafts over to me as we follow Stryker inside makes me halt near the door. Hank stops too, looking down at me uncertainly as I take a deep inhale.

But there's no mistaking that stench. And it's  _not_  breakfast.

My nose wrinkles in disgust. "Hank, I smell blood," I whisper.

He frowns and visually scans the room, as do I. Neither of us sees a source.

Ok, I am  _seriously_  creeped out right now. What the hell is going on?

"You remember my son, Jason?" Stryker asks proudly, gesturing to a completely empty chair at the tiny table in the back of the room. "And my wife, Emily?"

Oh my God.

The poor guy. No matter what this evil bastard has done, he's so deluded I can't help pitying him now.

Dammit.

"Yes, of course," Charles agrees, humoring him. "Would you like me to introduce you to my friends?"

"Of course."

"This is Dr. Hank McCoy, and Vivien, his wife-"

For whatever reason, the introduction makes the kooky scientist snap. Stryker's face, which had been arranged in an open, welcoming smile, suddenly contorts into a mask of pure anguish.

Um...

"Wife?" he cries. "My wife is dead- my son-  _dead._  I-I killed them,  _I_  killed them-"

And he collapses into a chair, his body wracked with tearless sobs.

He looks so fucking pathetic that I can't help feeling bad for him.  _Especially_  knowing that the reason his family is dead is because  _he_  killed them to save them from further pain at the hands of the Brotherhood. A mercy killing. In a weird way I can empathize with that decision- I can't say that in his place I wouldn't have done the same thing.

And I can  _definitely_  sympathize with his pain. We've both recently lost people we love because of all of Magneto's bullshit. How crazy is that, me having something in  _common_ with this bastard?

But I guess that's the thing about love and loss, you know? It's the great equalizer, in a sense, just like death. Even your greatest enemy is capable of love, and also grief for those they've lost.

We're  _all_  human that way, right?

On impulse I step away from Hank and move to stand next to the man I used to hate more than anyone else on this planet.

"Hey- shhh, shhh," I whisper, brushing my hand through his hair in an attempt to soothe him. The scent of blood is a lot stronger around him, and that makes me wary.

Stryker glances up, curious as to who's trying to comfort him. I watch the recognition flash across his face.

"You," he gasps, suddenly rising to his feet. It's a little unsettling, because he's almost a solid foot taller than me. "I remember you- you tried to kill me once."

"Technically several times," I mutter. "But yeah."

"Where's your big blue boyfriend?"

Behind me I sense Hank shifting uncomfortably.

"Oh, he's definitely around," I reply sardonically.

A pause.

And then Stryker shocks us all by grabbing both of my upper arms and shaking me a little.

"You didn't back then, but I want you to kill me now," he begs. "Please-"

Oh Christ, this is too much for me. I  _can't_  kill this pitiful shell of a man, even after everything he's done to me and mine. It would be  _murder,_  not mercy, because of the hatred I've borne towards him. I can't say with a clear conscience that that sentiment has completely died.

I shake my head and try to back away, but Stryker won't let me go.

"Please," he pleads, squeezing my arms tighter. "What I've done- my family- I-I helped Magneto-  _please_  kill me, it'd be a mercy,  _kill me_ -"

He starts shaking me like a ragdoll.

"Charles-" Hank snarls, but I'm already on it. I let the nutcase get away with a little bit of manhandling because he's crazy and all, but Stryker just tiptoed over my limit.

I reach up and grab his bathrobe-covered wrists, hitting a pressure point that makes his knees buckle. "I'm not going to kill you, dammit," I snap. I shove him back into the chair, where he slumps over and laughs maniacally.

The whole horrible episode seems to be over for a brief moment.

But then I look down to see that my hands are covered in blood.

_Blood._

Oh  _shit._ Oh shit oh shit oh shit-

"Hank!" I cry out urgently. I reach out and pull down the cuffs of Stryker's bathrobe, revealing deep gashes on both wrists that are steadily streaming blood. "Oh my God!"

Hank immediately springs into action.

"Keep pressure on those wounds," he orders, right before racing out of the room. Hopefully he's going to grab some supplies, because I honestly have  _no_  fucking idea what to do here.

For lack of anything else I quickly wrap my hands around Stryker's wrists and bathrobe, but because the fabric is already saturated it doesn't really do much.

Those wounds are bad.  _Really_  bad.

I have no idea what he used to cut himself but Stryker did a damn good job of it. I've seen injuries like that before. They seem small, like they shouldn't be a big deal, but slash an artery in just the right way and it's all over. Stryker, with his fetish for mutant dissection, probably knows all about that. I don't even think Hank will be able to fix this, though I know he'll try to do his best as a matter of course.

"There are towels in the bathroom," Charles offers. Even in my adrenaline- pumped state I can tell he feels pretty helpless right now, trapped in his wheelchair.

"Right," I agree. I tug on Stryker's hands. "Come on, Stryker. Up you get."

"No," he sullenly retorts, hunkering himself down in his chair.

Oh hell no.

I tug more sharply. "You're going to  _cooperate_  with me or the Professor is going to mind control your ass. Either way you're getting in that damn bathroom," I snap. "Now  _move,_ you big baby."

Yeah, my bedside manner might be a little lacking, but it works.

Stryker reluctantly stumbles over into the little adjoining bathroom with my support. The second he's in there I shove him into the bathtub and rip off his robe. I grab towels from the sink and tie them off around his wrists to staunch the bleeding, but they quickly stain red.

By the time Hank returns, only a few minutes later, Stryker is fading fast. He's too feeble to put up a struggle, though he looks like he would protest Hank's help if he could.

I wait tensely by Stryker's head while my mate furiously works to save him. I can tell it's a lost cause long before Hank gives up, optimist that he is.

Finally Hank raises his eyes to meet mine and shakes his head, telling me it's no use.

I bite my lip and look down at Stryker, who's now fading in and out of consciousness.

He's dying.

The man who caused my family  _so much_  suffering is finally dying. Far from feeling any sort of grim satisfaction from his demise, the only emotion I really register is...  _pity._ I've been feeling that a lot towards this guy, haven't I?

Maybe he deserves to die like this, alone and surrounded by strangers, because of what he's done in the past. I don't know. It doesn't really matter though, does it? In the great karmic balance of things, a life is a life. The least I can do is ease his passing if I can.

I take a deep breath and sing-

_"And honestly I have been begging for answers/ That you and only you can give to me/ My voice crying loud-"_

Stryker's bleary gaze focuses on me as I sing, astonishment evident on his chalk-white face.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he croaks when I pause after the chorus. "After everything I've done-"

_Because I'm a better person than you are, fuckhead._

I open my mouth to make the retort, but I stop myself because it's not true. Neither of us have clean hands, and we'll be judged accordingly at the pearly gates, I'm sure. Stryker's time is coming a helluva lot sooner than mine, but in the end we both have faults and made mistakes. We're the same that way.

We're both  _human._

I swallow thickly and murmur, "because you're a person, too."

He stares at me blankly for a moment, and then whispers, "sing some more?"

A final request from a dying man. I'd be heartless to refuse, and heartless I am definitely not.

God, wouldn't life be so much  _easier_  if I was?

But life  _isn't_  easy. It's crazy and fucked up and throws curve balls at you all the time, and that's why I'm sitting here singing a dude I tried to murder several times to sleep instead of letting him die alone.

_"Does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me?"_  I sing as his eyes drift closed.

"For everything- everything I've done, to you and yours... I'm sorry," Stryker gasps out.

Right before he fades away.


	93. Doing What We Can

**Doing What We Can**

"He's gone," Hank murmurs brokenly. "Charles, I'm sorry, there was nothing I could-"

He breaks off when he glances over and sees the crowd of X-Men gathered around the door, witnesses to the macabre scene in the bathroom. Neither of us noticed their arrival, but we admittedly had our hands full with a dying scientist here.

Charles shakes his head. "You tried your best, Hank," he assures my mate sadly. He looks pretty shell-shocked. "I should've known not to leave him alone, to think that he wouldn't feel so guilty it would lead to self-harm."

"Hindsight is twenty/twenty," I observe grimly.

I look at Hank, noting his devastated expression. Failure doesn't come easy to him in the  _smallest_  of things, but a human life in the balance? I can tell his confidence in his healing abilities is pretty shaken.

After a minute or two I realize that no one is stepping up to take charge of the situation. I guess the X-Men are inexperienced with this sort of thing. After all, most of them are kids. Hank's lost in a pit of self doubt- I'll have to take care of that later- and Alex and Charles seem pretty lost as well.

Well then.

I clear my throat and stand up. "Professor, do you want to give him a proper burial on the grounds?"

Charles nods apathetically- like he's distracted by the contemplation of his failings in this situation. "Yes, I suppose that would be the best thing."

"Alright. Cannonball, Havok, you guys take him downstairs to the med bay for now. Wrap the shower curtain around him, but Jean, I want you running interference ahead of them to make sure none of the kids see this," I order. "Cyclops, take the Professor outside and figure out where you want to bury him. Angel, you go get some cleaning supplies. You, me and Storm are going to clean this room from top to bottom."

All of them stand there and stare at me like I'm a goddamn alien or something.  _Really?_

So much for being an elite fighting force, Jesus.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I snap.  _"Go!"_

That finally snaps the X-Men out of their mannequin states, sending them scattering to fulfill their tasks with a sort of almost robotic obedience. That's more like it.

Then I turn to Hank, who still seems frozen with defeat. This whole time he's been staring at Stryker's corpse like he's trying to solve a puzzle and bring him back to life somehow. "Hank," I say gently, trying to get his attention.

He glances up at me, blinking back to reality.

"Hank, I think you should go rest for a while," I tell him. "Go upstairs, I'll meet you in a bit, ok?"

"Ok," he agrees, though I can tell the response is more automatic than sincere. He shakily gets to his feet and leaves the room.

My poor Hank.

I sigh and scoot out of the way so Cannonball and Havok can wrap up their grisly cargo and take it downstairs. By the time they manage to maneuver Stryker's body (I'd make a "dead weight" joke, but that would be pretty tasteless, wouldn't it?) out of the room Angel returns with a bunch of cleaning supplies.

"Thanks," I tell him. "I'll go ahead and get the tub if you guys-"

Angel cuts me off. "Nah, me and Storm will get this," he interjects, earning himself a glare from Storm. He pointedly ignores her and continues, with a decidedly awkward air, "you're still healing and everything so... yeah."

Aw. I'm touched, I really am.

"Thank you, Angel," I murmur. "That's- that's really kind of you."

He shrugs, cheeks pinking up a bit, and turns to get to work. The guy just went up about a thousand points in my estimation, easily. I wasn't looking forward to the feeling of my stitches pulling while I scrubbed blood out of this realistic impression of a horror movie set.

I stand there awkwardly for a moment before deciding it would be best to vacate the premises. I can only take so much of Storm's fiery hatred and resentment sucking all of the air out of the room before I choke on it.

Instead I drift into the adjoining bedroom and start to go through the drawers, looking for any clues on what Stryker might have used to off himself. Coming up empty on that, I check the closet and then gingerly get down on my hands and knees to look under the furniture.

I finally strike gold under the bed.

"Sonuvabitch," I mutter to myself.

Storm re-enters the room as I struggle to my feet. "What's that?" she asks suspiciously.

I hold out my findings- a butter knife and a plastic toothbrush, the end of which has been shaved down so it's razor sharp. "He used the knife to sharpen the toothbrush into a scalpel," I explain. "I guess you gotta admire his ingenuity, right?"

She just stares at me.

"Or not," I sigh. "How's it going in there?"

"Fine."

"Sure I can't help?"

She shakes her head sullenly.

"Alright. If you and Angel are good here I'm going to go check on Hank. That ok with you?"

Storm shrugs dismissively. "Whatever."

I head for the door, chuckling softly as I go. "That was the most civil conversation we've ever had, Storm," I observe over my shoulder. "Careful now, or I might think you're starting to like me."

The resulting scowl on her face makes me snort back laughter as I walk out.

My laughing mood is long gone by the time I reach Hank's room. I find him laying on the sofa in his sitting area, staring blankly at the ceiling. He's so zoned out he doesn't notice me until I reach his side and sit down on the floor next to the space where his head is on the sofa.

He blinks and startles slightly, his eyes finally focusing on me. "Sometimes I wonder if you can teleport," he observes dryly.

I grin impishly. "It's not my fault you can't hear worth a damn on your serum," I retort.

Hank manages a faint smile before his gaze drifts away again.

"He used a butter knife to sharpen a toothbrush into a scalpel," I offer after a moment. "I found them under the bed."

He says nothing.

I sigh. "Look, I'm not a doctor, but I  _do_  know something about killing people. I took a good look at Stryker's wrists, baby, and there really was nothing you could've done," I tell him. "He was a dead man walking the second he did that to himself." I reach up and stroke his face. "So stop beating yourself up about it, because I know you are. If I'm not allowed to blame myself for Marcel, you can't feel guilty about Stryker. We can't focus on the people we couldn't save, Hank. Just be thankful for those you  _can_."

"Easier said than done," he murmurs.

I smile sadly. "I know," I agree. "But don't let it shake your confidence, baby. You're the best, but sometimes even the best we have isn't enough."

"And that's what frightens me," Hank replies. He suddenly sits up and swings his legs off the sofa, placing them on either side of me. He reaches out and cups my face between his hands. "The thought of losing any of them- of losing  _you-_  absolutely terrifies me. How could I live with myself after that? What if there's another day I fail, and it's you? Or Jean? Or Alex-?"

He's never admitted this stuff out loud, though I've obviously guessed that he felt this way. He says so much with his eyes, even when he doesn't speak aloud, but I'm glad he's actually opening up to me like this.

I understand where he's coming from, I really do.

Hank's biggest fear is failing the people he loves. Not failing a test or something that doesn't matter, but losing the people who rely on him and having to live with the guilt of that failure. His vulnerability is  _beautiful_  to me, as crazy as that sounds. His genuine goodness is such a rarity in this wicked world. It's hard to believe he fell for a fucked up person like me.

And of course, being me, I try to make a joke to cheer him up. I grin at him and say, "You know, that's the problem with you perfect people. You get so used to doing everything right that the thought of failing scares you to death."

"I'm  _not_  perfect," Hank retorts defensively. "Far from it. But-"

I stand up and place my hands on his shoulders. "But you've got a huge weight of responsibility on your shoulders, and you're afraid to let anyone you care about down," I announce. "I know, baby, I know. But the only thing you can do is meet every situation as it comes and try your best. Most of the time, it's enough."

I smile bitterly and step closer, hopping onto the sofa to straddle him.

"I know _I_  wouldn't be alive right now if it wasn't for you," I murmur, nuzzling against his face. "To be honest I would be worried if you  _weren't_  afraid to lose me. Or any of the other X-Men. And you know I'm not just saying all of this to make you feel better, because I suck at that."

Hank gives me a wan grin and holds me closer. It feels good to be in his arms like this, because I think Stryker's suicide shook us both pretty deeply. I hope that Hank's taking as much comfort from me as I am from him- I mean, it's about damn time I returned the favor after everything he's done for me.

There's going to be another day where Hank won't be able to save someone. It's inevitable. But he can't let the fear of that happening paralyze him and stop him from trying his best to protect the people he cares about.

All we can do is take the hand we're dealt and do what we can.

* * *

May 30, 1975

"Ms. Vivien?" a childish voice behind me queries. "Hi, Ms. Vivien!"

I turn around, caught red-handed in the midst of my illicit snack run.

In the foyer behind me stands little Marie and several other children, watched over by Jean and-  _oh joy_ \- Storm. The latter girl looks just as thrilled to see me as I am her, but Jean and the kids seem genuinely pleased.

"Hi, kiddos. How are you?" I ask politely. Following their enthusiastic replies I meet the gaze of the older girls. "Hey, Jean, Storm."

"Hi, Vivien," Jean says warmly. "It's good to see you, I haven't seen you around."

I bite my lip. "Hank's kinda had me on house arrest so I can finally heal up," I admit, throwing a raised eyebrow Storm's way. Forgive me the moment of pettiness, alright? "But I'm making a prison break for a snack."

Storm's expression gets even uglier, if that's possible, while Jean brightens. She elbows the white-haired girl in the side, a quick reproof.

Subtle.  _Real_  subtle, Jean.

"It's snack time for us, too!" Marie tells me proudly.

"Do you know what you're having yet?"

She shakes her head.

"Well then," I say, quickly forming an idea. "I have just the thing for all of us. Come on, kiddos!"

You have no idea  _how_  good it feels to watch the children eagerly rush forward to walk with me to the kitchen. The gleeful grins on their faces and babbling voices are like some kind of miracle cure for me- I don't even feel my stitches anymore, as crazy as that sounds. It's also easy to forget about all the lingering uneasiness from Stryker's demise.

"Alright, who wants to be my big helper?" I ask once we've arrived.

Jean seems amused, hanging in the back of the group, but Storm looks like she's in line to get her teeth pulled. Because of course she does.

It doesn't surprise me when Marie and a few of the other kids raise their hands, enthusiastically trying to get my attention. None of them lack for self-confidence, except for-

"Connor?"

The little green-haired boy can barely meet my gaze, he's so timid. I remember him from my visit here last year, how much he seemed to want to blend into the background as much as possible among the other kids, with their boisterous personalities. His shyness makes me feel protective towards him- I think because it reminds me a little of Hank.

"Do you want to be my helper?"

Connor hesitates, shocked to be singled out over everyone else's more exuberant entreaties.

But then he nods eagerly, with this buoyant look in his eyes that hurts my heart a little bit. Such a small thing, but it obviously means so much to him to be noticed.

"Great!" I say, with an encouraging smile. "Here, let's get started-"

Connor helps me with handing out supplies so we can all make sugar cookies shaped like musical notes and decorate them with frosting. Once we make enough we line them up to make a little song.

And then we eat them, of course. Because  _cookies,_  man.

"I'll teach you how read music soon," I promise the children, and all of them seem really excited. And then I tell Connor, "you were such a great help today, Connor. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Ms. Vivien," he says, puffing his chest out with pride. It's a glimmer of self-confidence, and I helped give it to him.

God, I can't wait to be a teacher.


	94. Back In Fighting Form

**Back In Fighting Form**

June 2, 1975

Like I said, for the several days following Stryker's demise Hank has had me on strict house arrest- I mean, "bed rest."

Same goddamn thing, really.

It's  _really_  fucking irritating- I'm not much for sitting around and doing nothing, snack raids aside- but I also know that the quickest way for me to actually be able to  _do_ something against the Brotherhood is by letting my body heal itself.

By the time Hank declares that I'm officially no longer an invalid  _(finally)_  I'm chomping at the bit to get started.

"Sorry I've been so grumpy," I remark sheepishly as Hank removes my stitches. I haven't exactly been a ray of sunshine this past week. More like a sarcastic thundercloud, really. "I hate feeling useless."

"I'm aware," Hank murmurs dryly, focusing on his work. "But I understand, darling."

I sigh in relief. "Good."

After a few more minutes he stands up fully. "Alright," he says. "You're able to move more freely now. Just-"

His expression becomes pleading.

" _Please_ , take it slow," he begs. "There's no need to- to  _exert_  yourself unnecessarily-"

My coy grin makes him choke on his words. "'Unnecessarily?' I'm not sure I like that. I mean, who gets to decide what's  _necessary_  exertion and what's not, hmm?" I purr, running a claw along his jawline and wriggling my shoulders suggestively.

"Um-"

Hank's stupefied state is a huge ego boost, considering how hands-off he's been this past week.

I make a "come here" motion with my index finger, giving him my best attempt at a seductive look.

He drops his forceps to the ground, where they lay completely forgotten while he comes closer to me. There's heat in his eyes as his hands slide up my thighs, wrapping my legs around his hips.

I pull him down by the collar, but stop when our lips are a breath away from a kiss.

After a week of Hank slamming on the brakes the second things start to heat up between us, I'm leaving the decision to go further up to  _him._

_Is this ok?_  I silently ask him when his eyes open, only an inch or two from mine. I watch the surprise in their deep blue depths quickly turn to understanding.  _Show me. Show me that you want me just as badly as I've been wanting you._

We haven't had sex since the morning of the day we discovered that Marcel and everybody went missing. It's been a bit of a roller coaster since then, what with the emotional fallout from their deaths and then my injury. I understand why Hank didn't want to touch me at first, but once I was well on my way to healing...

It hurt my feelings, ok? I've been feeling pretty unwanted lately.

There, I said it.

Whenever he rejected my advances this past week I tried to act like I was only teasing to save my pride. But right now I just can't hide it anymore.

"Do you realize how difficult it's been to keep my hands off of you this past week and more?" Hank murmurs now.

"Really? Could've fooled me," I mutter.

"I didn't want to make your wound worse," he explains gently.

I open my mouth to retort, but Hank heads me off by placing his lips against the mating mark on my neck. I immediately melt into him out of instinct, baring my neck further so he can lay a trail of kisses down to my shoulder and up again.

Oh Jesus, he's got me all hot and bothered with barely any effort at all.

Not that I mind or anything.

"I've always prided myself on my self-control, but  _you,_  my dear, are enough to drive a saint to distraction," Hank tells me. He laces his fingers through my hair and kisses me deeply.

Finally,  _finally,_  he's giving me the attention I've craved. I can't help responding to his touch, the warmth of his lips on mine, no matter how unwanted I've been feeling lately. His passionate kisses soothe my wounded pride- like my insecurity just melts away in the face of his obvious desire, leaving both of us burning.

By the time we come up for air I'm feeling pretty turned on, and if Hank's sunset-colored eyes are any indication, so is he. I watch the blue pulse and flash across his face and know that's for  _me,_  because of  _me._

"Therefore, I think is definitely a situation that calls for some  _necessary_  exertion," he continues.

"Here?" I ask, incredulous.

He's kidding, right? As much as I'm into it, I never thought Hank would be into sex in semi-public places. I mean, it was hard enough getting him to try it on the bathroom counter, let alone a laboratory with weird chemicals and shit. That's why I hesitate, wondering if he's just trying to patronize me instead of because he actually  _wants_  this.

"Right now?"

Hank's cheeks go red. "I've always fantasized about having a girl in here," he explains, with the air of a confession. He gestures around the lab and cringes, like he's embarrassed over admitting to the nerdy fantasy.

I giggle in relief- and amusement. God, I love him and his awkward dorkiness. "Well then, Hank, I think I'll just have to let you have sex with me right on this bench," I declare in mock sincerity. "As your mate, it's my duty and pleasure to indulge you in this sort of thing. Just- what about the door? Someone could walk in-?"

Hank reaches down between us and flips some sort of switch hidden on the underneath of the lab bench. The door to the laboratory closes with a soft hissing sound, leaving us cut off from the rest of the mansion.

I laugh. "Very smooth, baby," I murmur appreciatively, pulling him in closer.

_Oh yeah,_ I think as Hank gently pushes me back onto the bench. _This is definitely some_  necessary _exertion._

* * *

"Hank took out your stitches this morning, yes?" Charles asks me as we sit down to lunch later that day.

And I mean  _much_  later, if you catch my drift. Hank and I had a lot of catching up to do in the sexy times department.

I nod, holding back a smile at the memory of this morning's fulfillment of Hank's fantasy. Twice. "Yes, sir."

"And he finished the music room the other day, if I recall correctly," the Professor muses.

"Yup," I agree hopefully, because I have a feeling I know where this is going.

"How would you like to start teaching then? Next Monday, perhaps?"

There's no stopping the  _huge_  grin that comes to my face. "That would be  _amazing_ ," I assure him, glancing over at Hank, who's sitting next to me. His eyes are lit up like Christmas trees, reflecting my excitement. "How many classes were you thinking-?"

Me and Charles eventually decide that I'm going to do three classes today- one for the smallest children, another for the eleven to fourteen year old students, and then the last for the older kids.

"You think we should bother with that one?" I ask dubiously. "It's optional and the time slot used to be a free period. I don't see a lot of the older kids wanting to give that up, you know?"

And then a couple of them still think of me as the evil Brotherhood member. So there's that, too.

"Oh, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised, Vivien," Charles argues gently.

"Alright," I agree, still unsure.

Since our conversation is over I now tune in to Alex and Hank, who appear to be having some kind of serious communication.

As I do Hank sighs and grimly agrees, "tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?" I wonder aloud, sensing my mate's reluctance.

"You've just been cleared to start training," Havok explains, gesturing towards Hank.

I grin and glance at my mate. "Today just keeps getting better and better," I observe brightly. Under the table I stroke along his thigh with my claws.

Hank coughs, and a half-aroused, half-embarrassed flush creeps across his face.

I giggle.

Alex looks back and forth between us warily. "Do I even want to know?"

"No," Hank replies quickly. "No, you don't."

* * *

June 3, 1975

"Alright, guys," Havok begins calmly. "Today I want us to do a little one-on-one practice. You are  _not_  allowed to use your powers or any other weapons, understood? I want you to focus on physical fighting right now."

Aw, looks like Fry Boy took my advice to heart about the X-Men needing to focus on hand-to-hand combat. That's good- we shouldn't be taking any chances.

"Marvel Girl, I want you and Storm to pair up," Havok continues. "Beast, you're with Vixen-"

Everyone throws sidelong glances our way, and no even bothers to hide their smirks. Even Storm and Angel look like they want to laugh at the thought of Hank practicing against me.

Well fuck all of them.

Is it so unbelievable that I could square up against Hank? I mean, I get that he weighs like,  _two_  of me and all, but I've taken him on before-  _and_  held my own, too. I had him on the ropes in that Agent Orange Facility, the second time we met. I don't really know if you can count any encounter since then as a fair fight, you know?

There's been too many feelings involved since then, and we've been going easy on each other.

Easy...

Oh  _hell_  no.

"You're not going to be too easy on me, are you?" I ask suspiciously as Hank leads me over to a corner by ourselves. "Is that why Havok put us together?"

Can I just say that Hank has no poker face at all? He immediately looks guilty, shifting his eyes away.

I let out an irritated hiss.

What the hell's the point of me training if we're going to half-ass the damn thing? It's a waste of everyone's time. I bet Hank will try to baby me or something.

Well I'll show him.

I attack with a snarl, so fast Hank barely manages to deflect the elbow I throw at his face. I use the sideways momentum from his block against him by slipping my legs around his neck and knocking him backward.

Hank lands flat on his back like a turtle. He reaches for my ankle, but he's pulled that trick on me before and I easily avoid him by doing a back flip out of his reach.

I settle into a crouch just out of his range and watch him regain his feet. His disgruntlement makes me grin. It's cute, alright?

_How 'bout them apples, baby?_

He sighs and makes a quick, low leap towards me. I can tell he's going to try to tackle me, so I spring up. As he passes under me he manages to grab my wrist with one of his feet and swings me underneath him in an attempt to pin me to the ground.

I'm quicker than Hank is though, thanks to all those sparring matches against Peter, and scramble away before he can land on me.

We end up facing off against each other again, only this time Hank's the one grinning. I scowl at him- I didn't like that foot-grab  _at all_ , the cheating bastard. I thought we weren't supposed to use our powers for this, huh?

"You're cute when you pout," Hank says now, still smiling this shit-eating grin that I would think was adorable in any other situation but this one.

His overconfidence galls me, man. He thinks that as long as he can snatch me out of the air there's no way I can beat him.

Time to prove him wrong.

I feint left, selling it so well that Hank over-commits and can't recover when I rebound off the wall to clothesline him with a good stiff arm. I do a one-handed handspring out of his range as he falls to the ground.

That right there's the key to this whole thing.

Hank is definitely stronger than me, and he's got a longer reach than I do. But that doesn't do him any good if I'm too fast for him to catch me. I dart in and out of range, landing quick blows with my feet and elbows because using my entire body weight against him is more effective than throwing a punch.

I give it my very best, trying to prove to Hank that I'm back in fighting form. I do pretty well, too- until he figures out a countermove to my tactics, that is.

The next time I try to hook my feet around his neck in an attempt to throw him to the ground again, Hank reaches out and knocks me out of the air, rather than trying to grab one of my limbs.

My breath escapes in a wheeze as I fall to the ground. I can't recover my feet fast enough to evade him this time.

Hank pounces- cradling my head to keep it from smacking the floor- and then moves his hands to pin my wrists to the floor.

I struggle for just a moment before realizing there's no use- I can't get away with his weight pressing me down like this. His eyes are filled with a triumphant, animalistic glow that makes all my bones turn to jelly. For a moment my more conscious self takes a back seat to the feral in me, and I think it's the same with Hank.

Instinctively, I turn my head to the side and bare my neck to him in submission. Yielding to my alpha, my mate.

Hank kisses his mark on my neck and nuzzles my face, purring deep in his chest in reassurance- reassurance that he's strong enough to take care of me. It's so  _hot._

I purr in agreement and nuzzle him back.

_Oh God, baby, take me now._


	95. Unexpected Reunions

**Unexpected Reunions**

"Alright, everyone, I think that's enough for the day," Havok's voice calls out pointedly.

Jesus, what a mood killer.

I bet he saw me and Hank getting too cozy over here in the corner and felt the need to rain on the party, the bastard.

Hank glances down at me, cheeks staining purple in embarrassment.

"We'll finish this later," I whisper, grinning coyly. I press my hips against his to emphasize the point.

"Little minx," he scolds, blushing further. Yeah, I know he's excited and I'm not helping, but come on. After my ignominious defeat here I think I'm entitled to dole out a little retribution.

After a minute Hank manages to calm himself and chivalrously helps me to my feet.

"How do you feel? Does anything hurt?" he asks anxiously. Looks like that now the Beast's instincts have been pushed to the background my worrywart has taken center stage again.

"Just my pride," I admit sullenly. As we go regroup in the center of the room with the rest of the X-Men I say, "besides the fact that I ended up  _losing-_  how'd I do?"

"Spectacular," Hank replies, and I can hear the honesty in his voice. It mollifies me- just a little, anyway. "I'm just glad you're on my side now."

I laugh, but in my heart I know that I'm glad for that too.

Hank repeats his opinion on my readiness level when Havok requests for a status report a few minutes later. All of us have exited the Danger Room, and are now headed for the locker rooms.

"You actually  _did_  spar a little, didn't you?" Havok asks pointedly. He looks down critically at my hand, now interlaced with Hank's, like I'm flipping him off or something.

I roll my eyes. We're not even training anymore, Jesus.

"We did. And Vivien is fine," Hank assures him, face turning purple. He squeezes my hand in warning because he knows I've got a snarky come back locked and loaded. "More than fine, really. I think we can start doing-"

It's subtle- so subtle that if I wasn't still so hyped up from sparring with Hank I wouldn't have noticed.

But just as Hank speaks I could swear that I feel a breeze brush past me, carrying vaguely familiar scents. That catches my attention immediately, of course. It stirs something in my memory, almost like...

I stop walking and turn back towards the hallway leading to Cerebro, frowning. I wonder-

"Sweetheart?"

I don't answer because I'm too focused. My eyes see nothing out of the ordinary, but my nose begs to differ.

Which means-

I scrunch my eyes closed.

_I smell you, you fucking bastard. I know you're there. You can't fool me anymore._

My eyes go right to him when I open my eyes again. He's behind Angel, who's furthest down the hall, hiding like the little bitch ass he is.

Mastermind.

I snarl and rip my hand away from Hank's as I leap around Angel, aiming for the intruder before he gets away. I'm much too quick for Mastermind to react- I easily pin him to the wall by the throat, digging my claws into his skin.

"Mastermind," I hiss. I'm vaguely aware of the horrified gasps of the X-Men behind me. "What an  _unpleasant_  surprise."

"H-hey, Vixie," Mastermind replies weakly. I can't tell if he sounds so fucking lame because he's that much of a chicken shit or because I'm holding him a couple inches off the floor by his neck. Both are pretty plausible. "How are you?"

I ignore that. "How the fuck did you get in here?" I demand coldly.

No answer.

Instead my vision starts to get fuzzy, flickering around the edges. I hear the other X-Men behind me shifting around, reacting to the encroaching blindness too.

The illusion has no chance with me, though. Not with my hand on this bastard's throat.

I ease back on him just a fraction before brutally slamming his head into the wall again. "Knock it off and start talking," I snap, and the illusion breaks.

"Or what?" he sneers. "You're an X-Man now, remember? A goody-two shoes. You're not going to-"

Something inside me snaps.

_No one_  in the Brotherhood gets to tell me what I  _am_  or am  _not_  going to do, X-Man or not. I'm done being controlled like that.

I take out one of my knives and throw it down into Mastermind's foot. The adamantium blade sinks to the hilt through not only his shoe and flesh, but also out the other side over an inch into the floor.

He squeals in pain like the big fat baby he is.

Ah, grim satisfaction.

I don't like hurting people, but with the memory of what happened to my friends-  _and_  Stryker's family while we're at it- because of Mastermind's involvement fresh in my mind I find that sentiment easy to forget.

Plus, I've just never liked this asshole anyway.

I summon the knife- now covered in blood- back into my free hand with a flick of my wrist. "Looks like they haven't worked out the rough edges yet," I note sardonically.

I start tracing along Mastermind's face with the blade, just enough that he can see how sharp it is. Mastermind looks like he's about to cry as his eyes try to keep track of the weapon. Fucking pansy.

"And trust me, after what you did to Stryker and his family, I could kill you and sleep like a baby tonight."

I sense someone shifting their weight behind me.

"Vixen-" Havok says.

But I ignore him. I've got no time for nicey-nice bullshit right now. "How'd you get in here, Mastermind?" I repeat. The tip of my knife skates along under his chin, an easy slip away from slitting his throat. "We both know Magneto only has one rule for the Brotherhood, and that's not to let any of them try to enter this school without permission. And yet here you stand. So what's got that crazy bastard breaking his own-"

And then it clicks.

Mastermind as a lookout, the breeze I felt stirring by me, going towards Cerebro...

Cerebro.

"Sonavabitch!" I hiss. "That stupid helmet!"

I slam the hilt of my knife into the side of Mastermind's head, knocking him unconscious. And then I take off down the hallway back towards Cerebro.

Because I know that's exactly where Peter- it's  _gotta_  be Peter, I know that from the slipstream- is headed.

He's going to try to steal that ugly helmet that blocks the Professor's telepathy out of Cerebro and give it to Magneto. I'm betting the crazy bastard wants to make it harder for us to stop his plans- so much that he's willing to risk sending his own kid into harm's way to get it.

Father of the year, that guy.

"Hank,  _come on_ ," I call back urgently. I might need back up and he's the only one fast enough to catch up.

I hear his soft footfalls only a few yards behind me as I turn the last corner to the hallway that leads to Cerebro's entrance. Both of us tread silent, thanks to our feral mutations.

That's why I'm able to get close enough to throw my knives before Peter and Wanda- who are currently busy trying to break into Cerebro- notice my approach. The blades pin them to the wall behind them by their jumpsuits before they can even react.

I stop running now that I've got the intruders under control. Hank also pauses beside me, waiting to follow my lead.

Kinda wish he would take the wheel on this one, though. What the  _hell_  am I supposed to do now?

"It's just a day for unwanted reunions, isn't it?" I gripe under my breath.

"Indeed," Hank murmurs, just as quietly.

I've got so many mixed emotions about the twins. They lied to me for months about the Brotherhood's bullshit and stood by while Mastermind tried to brainwash me, but... I thought they were my friends for a long time. No matter how pissed I am at them, it's still hard to forget that.

But that doesn't matter anymore, does it?

Hank's solid presence next to me gives me a little strength. When I grit my teeth and start walking towards my former so-called friends he stays right at my side.

"Hey, Vixie," Peter says cheerfully as I get closer. He's acting like we just met on the street or something. "You figured out we were in here, huh?"

Obviously.

I bite back the sarcasm and nod. "It took me a minute to understand what it was, but I felt the slipstream," I explain calmly. I gesture towards Cerebro. "Having any luck?"

The twins shake their heads.

"Want to give us a hand?" Wanda asks ruefully.

I snort. " _I_  couldn't even get in when I tried-"

Hank glances at my sharply.

I give him a sheepish grin. "I had to test it out, just to make sure," I whisper defensively. But then I turn to the others and say, "but even if I could, I wouldn't help you."

The atmosphere immediately ices over.

"Aw, come on," Peter scoffs after an uncomfortable pause. He tries to give me one of his typical boyish grins, but I don't let it get to me. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Not anymore," I reply coolly. "But then, I don't know if we ever really were."

Hurt flashes across his face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about," I snap. "Letting Mastermind try to brainwash me, not telling me that Stryker was helping the Brotherhood-"

"We already told you that the only reason we didn't mention Stryker was because we thought you would kill him," Wanda interjects. "We know how much you hate him."

"Sure," I retort disdainfully. "But then you were just fine to sit back and let my brothers and Mastermind torture him, weren't you? No problem."

Peter shrugs- or tries to, considering how his arms are pinned to the wall behind him. "After all that guy's done-"

"But his wife?" I counter. I'm so pissed I can't keep my voice from shaking. "His  _kid_? What the hell did they ever do to deserve any of that?"

The twins exchange startled glances- but is their surprise real or faked? Do they really not know what their dad has been up to?

Wanda recovers first. "How are we supposed to know if that's true?" she asks incredulously. "What if the X-Men have been lying to you, huh?" She nods towards Hank, her eyes narrowed in obvious dislike. "He's playing you, can't you see that? He just wants to get you away from your friends, your  _family_."

I feel Hank go stiff beside me over the accusations, but I just laugh bitterly.

"You mean the family that killed a group of innocent humans I was friends with just to get back at me for leaving?  _That_  family?" I ask sardonically.

Again, they seem surprised.

Don't ask me why, but this little painful, half-hopeful flutter goes through my chest. Did the twins not know about what happened to my Hell's Kitchen friends, either? How much of this shit is going on without their knowledge?

"Because I want no part in that kind of family," I announce. "Beast is my family now. And I hope that one day the other people here will become that for me, too."

Peter winces. "You can't really believe that, Vixie," he says gently. "I mean, Vivien- you don't  _really_  belong here. You know that, don't you?"

I shrug dismissively. "Maybe. Maybe not," I reply. "But I  _do_  belong with him."

When I step closer to Hank he slips an arm around my waist, pulling me in close to his side. The contact centers me a bit, giving my swirling emotions more clarity.

_Right here,_ I think _. I belong right here, next to you. That'll always be home._

I know it all sounds cheesy, but I've never been more sure of anything in my whole damn life.

With his free hand Hank reaches up and tenderly caresses my cheek. His gorgeous eyes are burning in his face, the most beautiful sunsets I'll ever see.

_Yes,_ they're saying silently _. You_  do _belong with me._

He glances furtively over at the twins, reminding me that we've got unfinished business here.

I glance back at the twins, locking eyes with Peter in particular. "I want you to tell me how you guys got in here," I order firmly.

He squirms under my hard-eyed glare- I guess some things never change. He still can't win a stare down for anything. "Mastermind made us invisible to a guy coming in the fence, so he didn't notice when we followed him in," the speedster admits reluctantly. "My speed took care of the rest."

I turn my head towards Hank just a bit, silently asking the question.

"That's an easy fix," he murmurs quietly.

I nod and look at the twins again. "It's pretty clear that you can't break into Cerebro, isn't it?"

They both look like they want to argue, but both finally mutter, "yeah."

"Good," I whisper. "Just... remember what I said, ok?" Maybe you should start asking some questions, and you'll see what I mean about them."

And then I flick my wrists, summoning my knives back to me and freeing the prisoners.

Within a blink of an eye, Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver are gone.

But not before I could swear I feel someone kiss me on the cheek.


	96. I Still Have Hope

**I Still Have Hope**

I don't move for a long moment. I'm too zoned out, I guess, wondering how much of Magneto's master plan Peter and Wanda are aware of. Are they curious about what their dad hides from them, or do they still trust him that blindly? Will they do some digging after what I told them just now, or will they bury their heads in the sand and pretend nothing's happening?

The sound of approaching footsteps snaps me out of it.

Hank and I turn to see Havok, Cyclops, and Storm running towards us.

"Who was it?" Havok demands. "Where are they?"

Oh boy. Here we go.

I'm  _so_  not in the mood to deal with this.

"Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch," Hank supplies after an awkward moment, when he sees I'm not going to answer. "They're gone already."

"Gone?" Havok repeats. His eyes narrow. "You mean you let them go?"

I shrug, indifferent to his pissiness. I know I did the right thing- Fry Boy's bad attitude isn't going to change my opinion on that. He might think I went easy on my former buddies, but I know better.

"We found out how they got in," I explain. "Hank's going to fix the loophole in the security system. They're not going to get another chance at the helmet, even if they tried again."

"B-but-"

"What were you going to do, hold them hostage?" I snap impatiently. "Torture them for more information? We got what we needed. Keeping the twins here was just begging for Magneto to hit this place with all he's got, so yeah, I let them go. Do you  _really_  have a problem with that?"

Havok purses his lips- he's pouting because he realizes that I'm right.

_Sorry to disappoint, dude. Still not a secret double agent or whatever._

"You're right," he begrudgingly admits. "Nice- nice job, Vixen."

Wow, a  _compliment_? You know, if he keeps this up Havok might actually grow on me a bit.

"You're welcome, captain," I reply, making a mocking salute and smiling. "Now, is it dinner time yet? I'm starved."

* * *

At dinner I don't join in on the conversation at all. Actually, I don't even eat that much.

For once food isn't near the top of my list of priorities. I'm too busy mulling over what happened this afternoon. I can't decide how I feel about seeing the twins again, realizing that their dad has been keeping them in the dark about some of the evil shit he's up to.

Well I told them before, right? To watch out about him?

But still...

"Hey, Vixen," a female voice says, cutting into my thoughts.

"Huh?" I ask absently, glancing up from my plate to see who addressed me.

Holy fuck, it was Storm.

What the hell is this about? I mean, ever since I came back to the mansion Storm and Angel have rather pointedly avoided any table I've been at, and now not only are they both sitting here, she's actually  _speaking_  to me. What kind of alternate reality did I stumble into while I was playing with my peas?

"What's up?" I ask, watching her warily.

"I just wanted to say that I thought what you did today was, um- great," Storm mutters, fumbling over the compliment.

For a moment I'm not sure if I should take that comment at face value or not. But then I decide that I might as well. "Thanks."

"I was wondering... how were you able to break Mastermind's illusion?" she asks tentatively. "Is that another ability of yours?"

Well knock me over with a feather.

I think Storm might actually believe that I'm on the X-Men's side now. That I proved myself today when I outed the Brotherhood's presence in the mansion, rather than pretending they weren't here. No one would've been any the wiser if I'd done that.

But I didn't, did I?

Out of my peripheral vision I see Hank hiding a pleased smile behind his napkin. I guess he senses the spring thaw in Storm's attitude towards me as well. An olive branch, if you will.

I decide to accept the offer and answer her question. "No, it's not," I reply. "It's something I learned out of self-defense. Mastermind is a disgusting pig with a perverted sense of humor. Me and Wan-"

The words stick in my throat, suddenly constricted by the memories. Mastermind fucking with my head, followed by that terrible girl's night out with Wanda. It was the night I met Marcel and Mr. Cole...

"Me and Scarlet Witch figured out pretty quick how to block him out of our heads."

"Can you teach us how?" The question comes from Angel.

I give him a hopeful grin. "Of course," I assure him.

So I explain to the X-Men how it's better if you're able to cut Mastermind off before his illusions are completely set, by breaking his concentration. But if you can't, you have to force yourself to doubt what you're experiencing is real. Doing that destroys the illusion and takes away his power.

Even as I speak I can tell the X-Men are listening intently, actually receptive to the knowledge I have to share with them. It feels... it feels really good to contribute.

Jesus. They might make me a team-player after all.

* * *

_So Storm might not completely hate my guts anymore,_ I think to myself as I get out of the shower after dinner. Finally _some good news._

Hank's in the bedroom waiting for me. I bet he's hoping I'll snap out the funk I've been in since our run in with Peter and Wanda soon, but he's giving me the space to work through it. I definitely appreciate his patience, because I  _really_  need to figure this out.

I'm torn, ok?

Part of me is still so  _mad_  at them over everything that went down while I was with the Brotherhood, but another piece of me can't stop thinking about their expressions today when I told them about Stryker's family and my friends. They didn't know, I'm sure of it.

My feelings are further complicated by what I overhead the night I sneaked back into the Brotherhood base to blow it up. Despite how uncharitable I was feeling at the time, I remember listening to the twins express something pretty damn close to second thoughts about watching Mastermind torturing me and then hiding stuff from me before.

That was then, though.

What about  _now?_  Is this new revelation what it will  _finally_  take for the twins to see the truth about their dad?

God, thinking about all of this really hurts.

Because no matter what came after, I can't help thinking about all the good times we had together, before everything got so messy. How good it felt to have people that I could consider friends for the first time ever.

And then later they protected me from Magneto by hiding some of my more questionable- to  _them,_  anyway- activities from him. I mean, it's obviously a fucked up relationship that the twins have with their father, but the fact that they put my safety over their loyalty to him has to mean something, right?

I don't have much frame of reference, but isn't that what friends would do for one another?

Maybe it's wishful thinking, but I believe the twins genuinely cared about me.

And after speaking with them today I honestly believe they  _still_  do. Watching their reactions to my revelations makes me wonder if maybe... maybe Peter and Wanda aren't as lost as I thought they were.

Or is that just  _more_  wishful thinking, because I can't stomach the thought of having misjudged them so badly?

I sigh and turn off the blow dryer, grabbing a comb to work through my hair. I'm about finished when Hank walks in, coming to stand behind me. I give him a little smile to reassure him- I'm guessing he's run out of patience and is starting to get antsy about my introspective silence for most of the day. Can't say I blame him, really.

Rather than speaking, though, Hank reaches out and starts playing with my hair, watching the strands slip through his fingers with something akin to fascination. I chuckle, because him fondling my hair is becoming a weirdly sweet habit of his.

He's silent for a moment, but then-

"Peter is in love with you," he blurts out suddenly.

What the hell?

I wrinkle my nose at him. "No, he isn't," I automatically retort. "It was never like that between us. I mean, you saying that is like you saying one of my brothers wants me." And I shake my head and chuckle at the absurdity of either circumstance.

Seriously, though. Peter,  _in love_  with me? He was like my little brother, for Christ's sake. My buddy. There's just no way he could be attracted to me like that.

"As a sufferer of the same affliction, I recognize the signs," Hank tells me. "He loves you, darling."

Well damn. I'm not sure if I should laugh over that or be insulted.

"Loving me is an affliction, huh? Sometimes you're so romantic you make me want to swoon," I tease. I giggle and fall against Hank for dramatic effect, trying to lighten his mood.

And ok, maybe I want to change the subject. I don't want to think about Peter being in love with me, alright? It's weird and unsettling.

Hank easily catches me and cradles my upper body against him. "I know what it's like to love you and not be able to have you, Vivien," he says quietly. He's so serious, remembering how hopeless our love once was, that it sobers me right up. "I remember how it felt all too well. It's no picnic, trust me."

I frown, because the thought of Peter suffering in silence over an unrequited love for me the same way Hank did seems bizarre. I mean,  _Peter_?

It's incongruous with everything I know about the silver-haired speedster. Impatient, fun-loving, and mercurial Peter quickly becomes disinterested when he doesn't get what he wants. From one thing to the next, that's just how he is. Even if he  _does_  have some sort of romantic feelings for me- which I seriously doubt, anyway- I'm sure it's just a passing crush.

I shrug. "He's got a short attention span," I mutter. "Even if what you say is true, he'll get over it."

With that I regain my footing and reach for my toothbrush.

"Are you still angry about this?" Hank asks suddenly, touching his mating mark on my neck.

My gaze seeks his in the mirror, puzzled over the random question.

And then I realize that he feels guilty, because even if I decided that I really wanted Peter or something it wouldn't matter. Hank irrevocably claimed me as his for the rest of our lives.

As if I could ever want someone else. Mated or not, the guy's so perfect for me it's like I made him in a computer. No one would ever be able compete with that, case closed.

"No, I'm not," I reply softly. "I was at first, yeah, because I was afraid and pissed that you didn't ask first, but at this point... I guess I'm  _relieved_."

"Relieved?"

"Mhmm. I wanted to keep you, to be yours, but there were so many reasons why I couldn't before," I explain. I think about all the times I secretly hoped Hank would mark me so I wouldn't feel so torn between him and my brothers anymore. To take the responsibility for my selfish wants, so I wouldn't feel guilty about leaving my brothers and Magneto's bullshit behind me. "I felt so selfish, hoping you would want to be with me forever, but knowing how messed up our lives would get if you claimed me..."

"And then I did mark you. So you got what you wanted- what we  _both_  wanted- but it was my fault," Hank concludes dryly. "Not yours."

I grin sheepishly. "Exactly," I agree. "Are you angry?"

"No," he replies. "Just relieved that my mate isn't going to resent me for the rest of our lives."

I shake my head and lean back against his chest. He enfolds me in his arms and buries his nose in my hair, and I can't picture wanting to be anywhere else right now. He's everything I could ever think to ask for in a mate, and more.

Just look at how much bullshit he tolerates from me and tell me that's not true love. After everything I've put him through, he's only ever wanted to be by my side, facing the world together. His quiet, solid support earlier meant more than words could say. And now...

"I-I think I still have hope for the twins, Hank," I admit quietly, because I don't know how he's going to take that. They're not completely off the hook, but the fact that Peter and Wanda seemed to be in the dark about the more horrible stuff the Brotherhood's been up to lately gives me hope that they're not too far gone.

But does Hank agree?

He's always been more critical over the twins, so it wouldn't surprise me if he still held them responsible. Ignorance can be a weak defense when the ability to gain knowledge is in your reach, and all that.

But then Hank surprises me, sending a painful flutter of hope shooting through me.

"Me, too."


	97. Vivien's First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Credit to Sleeping with Sirens for "Scene One- James Dean & Audrey Hepburn."

**Vivien's First Day**

June 9, 1975

"I don't think I've ever seen you this nervous," Hank observes, obviously amused.

I make a face at him. "Thanks," I mutter sarcastically.

And then I go right back to fidgeting, smoothing my dress and fiddling with my earrings.

I'm anxious, ok?

Today is my official first day as a teacher at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Ever since I woke up this morning I've been freaking out about messing up somehow. There's just so many ways this could go wrong. What if the kids don't behave for me? What if I'm really bad at teaching? I mean, I did ok for half an hour or whatever, but doing this every day? Can I do it?

I've been looking forward to this for  _so long_. I'm terrified that I'm going to blow it.

"Hey," Hank says gently, wrapping his arms around me. "I didn't mean that as an insult, sweetheart. I know what this means to you."

I nod absently. "It's just- I've kinda wanted to be a teacher since I was a little kid," I admit. "But my life got so messy after my parents died, I lost sight of that for a while. And now that I'm getting a second chance at it, I  _really_  don't want to screw up."

"You're going to be fine," he assures me, and I can't decide if I feel humbled or  _more_  scared of fucking up, considering his complete confidence in me. The thought of letting him down makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Hank tilts my chin up to give me a kiss, and that's what finally makes me calm down a little bit. It doesn't matter if he's in his Beast or human form- I can't help melting into him, our bodies fitting together like we were made for each other.

"Want me to stay in the room with you?" he offers when we come up for air.

I snort. "Oh, please. Don't pretend you're not going to be lurking in the hall outside the whole time anyway, baby," I tease.

His grin is decidedly guilty. "Well, not the  _whole_  time."

* * *

It doesn't surprise me one bit when Hank offers to walk me down to the music room. I roll my eyes over his protectiveness, but secretly I think it's sweet. Call me a sap, I guess.

The second we enter the room I spy a vase full of flowers on top of the piano. Violets and gardenias, my favorites.

"Are these from you?" I ask, though I think I know the answer.

I wore violets in my hair at our wedding, and I still have the gardenia Hank gave me in Central Park when he made his big apology and declaration of love. I pressed it in the pages of Rilke's  _New Poems_ , marking "Love Song"- the poem that prodded me into going to see him that day.

Yup, I'm  _definitely_  a sap.

"Yeah," Hank replies shyly. I smile and go over to sniff the blooms. "I-is it too much?"

"Oh, Hank," I mutter in exasperation, rolling my eyes. "What am I going to do with you?"

And I give him another kiss to answer the question.

As I pull away I hear the sound of children approaching. Hank's gaze follows mine to the door to see when a minute later Charles enters the room with several children in tow, about ten in all ranging from ages seven to ten years old.

"Children," Charles says genially, "you remember Ms. Vivien, don't you?"

Most of the kids reply enthusiastically in the affirmative, having already met me before. The ones who haven't warily appraise me, still unsure.

Charles smiles. "She's going to teach you about music, and you're all going to be on your best behavior, yes?"

I laugh before any of the kids can answer. "Thank you, Professor, but I don't know if you guys need to be on your  _best_  behavior," I tell them, with a grin. The shyer students immediately perk up at that. "Come on, kiddos, let's get started."

With that I step over to the empty, carpeted space in the center of the room and sit down. A pat on the ground next to me has all of the kids scrambling to join me. I'm guessing that the novel idea of having a class where they don't have to sit at desks appeals to them.

"Now how about we go around in a circle, and everyone can tell me your names- and your favorite songs, too?" I suggest brightly. "I'll go first. My name is Vivien, and my favorite song is..."

I can't tell you how much fun it is to interact with these kids, watching them respond to me so well. How much  _joy_  I get from introducing them to music. I just- I just don't know the words. But then, maybe they don't even exist yet.

While we go around the circle I'm aware of the Professor and Hank still standing next to the piano. My mate is looking at me with that special glow in his eyes, like he's happy just  _watching_  me being happy.

I'm just starting to wonder if the two of them are going to stand there for the whole class when I hear Charles' voice in my head.

_They love you already. You're going to do wonderful._

Heat rises in my cheeks, but I don't outwardly react otherwise.  _Thanks, Professor,_ I think. _For giving me the chance._

I can hear the smile in his thoughts as he replies,  _you're welcome. Now, we'll leave you to it._

Out of my peripheral vision I watch my audience leave, though Hank is obviously reluctant and keeps looking over his shoulder. It makes me want to laugh.

_Relax, baby,_ I want to say _. I'm not going anywhere._

* * *

The first two classes go great- so great that a pessimist like me has to think that my luck won't hold.  _Something's_  bound to go wrong sooner rather than later, you know? It's like a law of nature or something.

That's why my expectations are rock bottom when the time rolls around for the class for the older students. Life experience has taught me not to get my hopes up, especially in a situation like this. I mean, what high school age kid is going to give up free time for an  _optional_  class? I wouldn't even blame Jean for not showing up.

Rather than sitting there just moping about it I grab a guitar and start to play one of the songs I made up with Mr. Cole, thinking about what a good day we had as he matched a melody to the lyrics I made up. We were such a great team about that sort of thing. It was like me and him could read each other's minds or something.

God, I miss him.

_"How the hell did we end up like this? You bring out the beast in me/ I fell in love from the moment we kissed/ Since then we've been history-"_

Movement at the door catches my eye, and I see that it's the older students, actually come for me to teach them.

The sight of all eight of them (even Storm, amazingly enough) filing in astonishes me so much I almost lose my place. But this song- with Mr. Cole's melody, and lyrics I wrote about Hank- is so much a part of my heart that I manage not to make myself look like a complete  _moron_  to my potential new students.

First impressions, and all that.

All of them come and sit down to form a circle that includes me on the floor, listening as I play. There's admiration on every face- some open and honest, some a little more reserved- and that gives me confidence.

_"It goes to show/ I hope that you know that you are/ What my dreams are made of-"_  I sing, smiling like an idiot because I'm thinking of Hank.

_"-Please stay forever with me."_

There's a moment of dead silence when I finish. And then-

"Wow," one of the girls whispers- Jubilee, I think her name is. She's not an X-Man so I'm not all that familiar with her.

And then to my surprise Angel starts clapping, causing everyone else to burst into an enthusiastic round of applause.

Oh Jesus.

"Thanks, guys," I say, trying to ignore how my face is turning bright red right now. I'm not used to so much acclaim.

"Did you write that?" Jubilee asks, her pretty, round face shining with eagerness. "About Dr. McCoy?"

I swallow back the urge to tell her to mind her business. "Yeah."

"It was beautiful," Jean observes sincerely, and the other students nod in agreement.

"I could really feel-" Storm blurts out, and then halts. She looks surprised over her own initiative, but when everyone turns to look over at her she feels obligated to continue. "I could really  _feel_  what you were singing. It was... I felt it with you, I guess."

"Thank you," I reply calmly. I think I do a good job of hiding my urge to check to see if pigs are flying outside, or if hell has frozen over or something. "That means I did it right. I think every good song should touch its listeners in some way or another, make you feel something." I grin. "Otherwise, it's just noise, right?"

That earns a few chuckles.

"Can you teach us how to do that?" Angel asks. Trying to acquire a new skill to impress the ladies, maybe?

I shrug. "I can teach you to read music, and play it, and sing- yes, Jean, even you," I assure her when she makes a disbelieving face. "Only the truly tone deaf- like Dr. McCoy- can't be taught to sing. If you're only  _half_  as bad as he is I'll make a singer out of you, you'll see."

Again, the students laugh a little.

"I can also teach you a little about verse- you guys learn about poetry in English class, right?" I query, and they all nod, expressions intent. Their obvious interest is giving me a slowly growing confidence. "That's great, you can connect the two subjects then. But what I  _can't_  do is put words in your mouth. Song-writing comes from the soul, and each of us has to find our own voice. I might be able to help you articulate and fine-tune, but most of it has to come from  _you._  And for those of you who aren't so sure that you have it in you, I think you'll end up surprising yourselves. So..." I grin hopefully. "Who's ready to get started? Maybe with the guitar first?"

Everyone gives eager assent, to my relief.

Within a few minutes I pass out the pre-tuned acoustic guitars and start explaining the parts and strings. Once they get the hang of that we move on to the chords.

"Alright, place your fingers on the frets like this," I instruct, demonstrating. "This is C."

A quick listen as everyone starts to strum out their first attempts tells me I'm going to need to make some adjustments. I go around to each student and help them get the right grip on the instruments. Thankfully the gentle corrections come easily to me, using the way I remember my dad teaching me as a model.

"Angel, try curling your pinkie over more, like this," I tell him, gently moving his finger. "There. Try now."

He grins when the sound comes out properly this time. "Thanks, Vivien."

Wow. I'm  _Vivien_  to him now? How times have changed.

I play it cool though, rather than reacting like that's a big deal to me. I merely smile at him and turn to the next student.

As I do my gaze wanders over to the door, where I spot Hank slyly peeking in.

_Hello there,_ nosy _._

Called it, didn't I? I knew he wouldn't be able to resist checking on me, the big worrywart. Actually, I'm surprised that it took him this long.

I raise an eyebrow at his spying, and for a moment Hank has the grace to look a little embarrassed.

But then his expression becomes a little smug.  _"I told you so,"_  he mouths to me silently, obviously referring to the fact that all of the older kids showed up to my class, despite my dire expectations.

I roll my eyes at him, but  _secretly_?

Secretly, I'm pretty damn happy to be proven wrong.


	98. The Intruder

**The Intruder**

June 28, 1975

"You know what we should do?"

"What?" Hank asks absently, without looking up. We're relaxing on the couch in our room following dinner with the other X-Men, and he's currently concentrating on massaging my feet. Not that I mind putting his foot fetish to use like this or anything.

I wiggle my toes to get his full attention. "We should have a foot race. You and me," I tell him. "Around the whole grounds. What do you think?"

My husband wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Running around without purpose sounds wholly unappealing," he replies stiffly.

I snort. "Let me guess, you'd rather be reading?" His half-sheepish, half-offended expression makes me laugh and pull my feet out of his lap. "Guilty as charged, I see," I observe. I scoot closer and swing my leg over so I'm straddling his lap before I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. The way he deepens the kiss and clutches me closer makes me smile against his lips.

"Why don't we go down to the theater room?" Hank suggests rather breathlessly when we come up for air. "Or- or we can just stay in here?"

"Jesus, are you seriously  _that_  opposed to physical activity?" I tap his nose in reprimand.

"Not  _all_  physical activity," he replies, pressing his hips against mine suggestively.

I roll my eyes, though he  _is_  rather tempting. "Don't distract me," I scold. "Let's go out, Hank. Please?"

My persistence is because even though the past few weeks here have been amazing, I still have to admit I'm starting to go a little stir-crazy again.

It's been wonderful-  _beyond_  wonderful, really- to fall asleep and wake up next to Hank every morning. To spend my days giving the students here the gift of music and my evenings with my mate. All of this feels like a  _miracle,_  especially considering what my life was like before I came here.

But as awesome as Xavier's is, I still can't shake the desire to go elsewhere, at least for a little while. Hank and I used to meet all over New York City, going to museums and bookstores to spend time together. And now... ever since I came back here after my little suicide mission to the Brotherhood's base I haven't left the mansion's walls.

I get why, I really do.

Hank wants to protect me, to keep me safe, and that's why he doesn't want to go anywhere. So in keeping with my new mission to be more considerate of his feelings (I mean, at the rate I've been going I'm gonna give the guy an aneurysm by the time he's thirty-five), I'm trying to offer a compromise: going outside, but still within the safety of the mansion's fence.

Hank still looks reluctant- but not hellbent against my suggestion. I can work with that.

"Oh, come on," I coax. "We haven't really been outside in ages."

I can sense him weakening further from the way his jaw tightens a little- a telltale sign he's feeling guilty. Hank has no poker face at all, the poor thing.

"Please?" I press, batting my eyelashes at him and smiling sweetly.

Hank lets out a sigh. "Alright, fine."

"Yay!" I cheer. I clap my hands and then lean in close to bite his ear, whispering, "don't worry, baby. I'll make it worth your while."

Desire flares in his eyes, along with a hint of curiosity. When I hop off his lap he stands and trails along behind me without any more wheedling required.

"Are you going to change?" he asks, gesturing to my dress.

"Nope," I reply. Changing my clothes would put an unnecessary obstacle in the way of my post-race plans. " _You_  should, though. Bring my Beastie Boy out to play, baby."

He rolls his eyes at the nickname. "I suppose I should," he agrees dryly, "or I won't stand a chance against you."

I laugh. "Hank, you don't stand a chance anyway," I boast.

He raises his eyebrows, looking slightly affronted that I'm so sure of victory over him.

Of course Hank's offended expression just makes me laugh at him even more- which then leads him into more pouting. Talk about a viscous cycle.

"We'll see," he murmurs. The little competitive edge in his voice makes me grin. He's always so modest, but I know he's got a prideful streak buried deep down. I enjoy bringing that out of him.

What? It's  _fun_  to see Hank acting like an alpha male every now and then.

Without further ado he transforms into his Beast form and follows me outside to the edge of the arboretum.

_Ah, what a relief._

The grounds are so big that if you go out far enough, near the perimeter, you can't even see the mansion anymore. It's  _beautiful_  out here under the trees, the balmy summer evening a nice escape from the ultra-civilized world that is the mansion. Sometimes I still don't feel like I belong in such luxurious surroundings. I wasn't kidding when I told Magneto that I felt the mansion was a little too high class for a country girl like me.

At this point I've finally gotten used to Xavier's super-ritzy interior, but being outside feels more...  _comfortable,_  I guess. More natural. Out here I can breathe a little easier, feeling the springy grass beneath my bare feet and hearing the familiar sounds of nature all around me.

It's different from the bayou I grew up in, but not in a bad way. The small forest, the trees and wildlife, are familiar in form without giving me a painful pang of nostalgia. There's no childhood recollections to come back to haunt me here, which is something I was kinda worried about.

Thankfully I was wrong. This place is free of the past, meaning Hank and I are free to make new memories of our own out here. Together.

"Alright," I announce. We're close enough to the fence that I can hear its electric hum, but not in sight of it. "All the way around the grounds. That tree-"

I point to a big oak tree in front of us.

"Will be the finish line. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

I lean forward on the balls of my feet, and Hank follows suit. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'm going to be," he mutters with a sigh of resignation.

He's faking it though, I can tell. I've got him curious about what's going to happen after our footrace, how I'm going to make this exertion worth his while.

I can't stifle my grin. "Get set," I say. "Go!"

We both take off, with Hank running on all fours and me on two feet. I admire him from my peripheral vision for a half mile or so, the way his long, athletic strides remind me of a lion. Powerful, strong, and  _oh-so-sexy_.

_Oh, the things I'm going to do to you, baby._

I laugh and press on, allowing myself to really run it out for the first time in- in  _years,_  actually. I can't even  _remember_  the last time I got to run like this, just letting myself enjoy the freedom of moving under the open sky, between the trees. I don't care how sweaty and gross I might get from doing this. Right now I'm just having  _fun._

For the first five miles or so I out-distance Hank easily, but after that point he starts to catch up.

Well shit.

Even though I might have him beat on speed, Hank's longer stride and the  _huge_  edge he has in pure strength give him the advantage as far as stamina goes.

By the time we're about ten feet away from our finish line he's pulled even with me, so close that if he stretches it out just a bit more he's going to beat me.

Oh  _fuck_  no.

Running is  _my_  thing. There's no way I'm going to let him win this one.

Gathering all my strength, I make a leap for it. My jump carries me all the way over to the tree while Hank is still several feet behind me.

I turn around and grin triumphantly at him.

He skids to a sputtering halt, and I can tell he's slightly out of breath.

"I win," I tell him brightly- and yeah, a little obnoxiously to show off that I'm not winded in the slightest.

"You cheated," Hank retorts.

"How's that? I demand, offended. "We agreed that the first one to the tree wins. There weren't any other rules."

He frowns, trying to find a hole in my logic. Then he huffs in irritation when he realizes it's bulletproof. "Fine."

I laugh at his annoyance. "That's what I thought."

He's still sulking as I step away from the tree, beckoning him towards me and looking at him through my eyelashes. His indignation slides off of his face so quickly it's a struggle not to laugh at him.

But instead I give him my best attempt at a seductive smile and watch the heat flare in his eyes in response. When I turn away I know he's going to follow, though after a few steps I glance back to make sure.

Yup, he's trailing along behind me like a kite on a string.

I grin and lead him into a thick copse of trees. The evening light is fading fast, but I can still sense a thinning in the treeline up ahead. Perfect for what I have planned next.

Within minutes we drift into a lovely little meadow. The grass is thick under my feet, and I can see the fireflies coming out for the evening, hovering in the clearing between the trees. The space is also completely hidden from the mansion and any prying little eyes that might be outside this evening.

Once we've reached the center of this glade I turn towards Hank and raise my eyebrows, giving him an inviting smirk.

The fiery glow in his eyes tells me he already knows what I want without me saying a word. God, with just a look he makes a flash of heat go across my skin and my knees feel like jelly.

He wants me just as much as I want him. Here, right now.

Hank gives me a sexy grin. "I was wondering why you wore a dress to a footrace," he comments dryly, stepping closer. He gets on his knees and starts trailing his claws along my thighs, up and out of sight. "Am I wrong to assume it's for ease-of-access?"

I giggle and run my claws along his scalp. "I didn't want to scar any squirrels for life," I admit. Or, you know, get chewed up  _too_  much by mosquitoes.

"Oh, I think we're going to do that anyway," Hank assures me.

Now that sounds like a plan, baby.

* * *

I beat Hank by an even wider margin on our return back to the mansion. Of course I can't resist rubbing it in when he finally catches up to me on the front steps.

"You were even slower that time," I tease. "Is my old man getting feeble?"

He huffs in annoyance. "No," he retorts.

And then he leans down with a lightning quickness to wrap his arms around my waist. He lifts me easily so I'm head and shoulders above him.

"Do you realize how difficult it is to concentrate on my feet when I have this in front of me?" He gives my butt a cheeky squeeze. "I'm lucky not to fall on my face."

We both laugh at that, but our mirth turns to something else when he loosens his grip and allows my body to slowly side down the length of his, regaining my feet. He's all iron muscles under that soft fur, a perfect balance to my senses. And our bodies fit together so perfectly there's no space between us at all.

"Round two?" Hank asks hopefully, pressing against me even more.

"You're insatiable," I laugh- but to be honest, I was just thinking the same thing.

"I have a lot of time to make up for."

He kisses me deeply, bringing all that desire and passion rising right back up to the surface again. Yup, round two is definitely sounding like a  _fantastic_  idea right about now.

When he starts nibbling on my ear I purr in approval, digging my claws into his hair as I tilt my head to give him better access-

A pointed cough breaks into my awareness.

"Ahem," a female voice says. "Am I interrupting something?"

We both glance over at the intruder. Of course Hank immediately freezes up, probably petrified by his embarrassment over getting caught in such an intimate pose.

"Just a little," I admit ruefully to the woman. "Hi, there."

My attempt to disengage myself from Hank and look halfway presentable finally unfreezes my poor, shy husband from his chagrin. He turns to face our visitor head-on, keeping his arm around my waist, and eyes her warily.

I do the same, appraising the newcomer carefully.

She's a tall blonde with an athletic build and small, blue-gray eyes that are staring straight into Hank's with an intensity that  _immediately_  makes me uncomfortable.

Who the fuck is this, and why is she staring at my husband like that? And also, does this chick think she's too good for polite greetings or something? What the hell?

And more importantly- why is Hank looking at her like he's seen a fucking ghost?

Oh, I don't like this. Not a damn bit.


	99. Score for Team McCoy

**Score for Team McCoy**

"Hi," Hank says woodenly, breaking the awkward silence. "Welcome home."

Home? Who the hell could this be?

_Maybe_...

The woman frowns disdainfully. "This was never my home, Hank," she retorts. "I just used to live here, is all."

Wow. I'm not an etiquette expert by any means, but this bitch's rudeness is already setting my teeth on edge.

Add that to the fact that I have some quickly rising suspicions about  _who_  she is, and, well- let's just say she is  _not_  earning any points with me.

"Charles will be glad to see you," Hank offers, obviously floundering for his customary politeness. "He's missed you very much."

Her face twists into an all-out sneer. "He just misses how I was before."

"Have you really changed that much?" Hank asks quietly.

"Yes," the woman snaps. The way she raises her head, all proud and defiant, makes me roll my eyes. Talk about overcompensating- I immediately get the impression that she's trying to convince  _herself_  of her own bad-assery. How lame is that? "And so have you, by the looks of it. Last time I saw you, you were definitely...  _not_  blue."

And then this  _whore_  gives  _my_  husband a very obvious once-over, right in fucking front of me.

"You look good, Hank."

Oh, this bitch-

I stiffen up even more, waiting for Hank to put her in her place.

_Come on, buddy, that's your cue. Tell her to back off, because_  hello _,_   _your wife is standing_  right next to you.

But instead he ducks his head bashfully- fucking  _bashfully?-_  and murmurs, "thank you, Raven."

And that's when I snap.

"Raven?" I hiss.

I knew it, I fucking  _knew_  it.

This is Raven Darkholme, the girl who lived with Charles as his sister for almost twenty  _years_  before walking off with Magneto after knowing him for only a few  _weeks._  She left her adopted brother bleeding on a beach in Cuba and never looked back for ten long years. And then she ditched him  _again,_  at the White House in 1973.

Her abandonment sent Professor X into a decade-long tailspin that took Hank along for the ride. Ten years of loneliness and suffering, because he's got too much damn honor to ditch a friend who needs him. And who was the root cause of that? Raven, of course.

And yeah, I'm a little jealous, too. I'm only human, alright?

She's tall, and blonde, and she's got bigger boobs than me- but then, who doesn't? At least she's not as pretty as I thought she'd be, considering how she had Charles, Magneto, and Hank all in a tizzy over her for years.

And she's not intimidating in any way, though  _she_  certainly thinks she is with her fucking attitude.

Someone should  _really_  take her down a peg. And teach her not to ogle other women's husbands.

_Oh, pick me, pick me! I volunteer!_

I take a step forward-

Hank pulls me back, sandwiching me against his side with a grip like iron around my waist. When I glance up at him reproachfully he gives me a meaningful frown. I can read his thoughts like they're written across his goddamn forehead.

_You can't. Charles will be upset with you if you rip his sister apart,_  his eyes tell me reprovingly.

Whatever. Fucking spoilsport.

Raven misinterprets the action, though. "I'm not going to hurt your little girlfriend, Hank," she says, with a condescending smirk that clearly says,  _"but I could, if I wanted to."_

Trust me, if I could duck Hank's hold on me in this moment I would cheerfully flay her alive.

I get that I'm short and petite, ok? To most people I look like a teenager, some sweet little thing that wouldn't have the strength to hurt a fly.

More fool them, right?

But Raven's a shape-shifter. She, of all people, should know that appearances can be deceiving.

I raise my hand and use my claws to brush back a lock of hair behind my ear. "I don't think it's me he's worried about," I reply. I tilt my head and give the other woman a sickly sweet smile that shows my fangs. "I can take care of myself."

"And who are you, exactly?"

"Vivien McCoy."

_Yup, that's right, bitch. I'm the_ wife _._

Raven looks insultingly impressed, but I sense her antipathy abating a little bit. Or maybe she realizes she shouldn't fucking  _test_ me.

"You're very pretty, Vivien," she murmurs.

"Thanks," I reply guardedly. "So are you."

_I mean, your cheeks make your eyes look too small, but whatever._

Suddenly the blonde Caucasian woman in front of us changes into something else entirely. She's now all garishly bright primary colors- reptilian blue skin, cold yellow eyes, and slicked back red hair.

And she's also completely nude.

Damn, it's no wonder all the boys come running when she snaps her fingers, if she walks around like this. It all makes sense now.

Hank pointedly focuses on me, practically  _whistling_  to show he's not looking at the naked female in front of us.

_Good boy. Still mad at you, though._

"How about now?"

_Honey, your boobs are super obviously uneven. Maybe you should wear clothes, then it wouldn't be so noticeable,_  I want to say.

I bite back the reply in the spirit of conciliation- look at me, being an adult- and shrug. "Being butt-naked is a bit much, but if you got it, flaunt it. I guess."

Raven smiles. Apparently I've gotten her seal of approval now or something.

Yay, me.

Hank coughs uncomfortably. "Raven, are you here to visit Charles?"

"No," she replies, shifting back into the blonde form she wore before. "I'm here with a warning."

And here I was, thinking she was just here to be a pain in the ass.

"Erik's got a big project coming up."

"Yes, we're aware," Hank tells her. He goes on to explain the information I decoded from the Brotherhood's files. "We know he's going to release an aerosolized mutagenic compound into the air from the Statue of Liberty. We just don't know what day."

Just thinking about it makes me sick, knowing what's going to happen if Magneto's plan succeeds. The people of New York City dying in the streets.  _Millions_  of Mr. Cole's and Marcel's and baby Johnny's if we don't stop that crazy bastard.

And my brothers are helping him...

Raven looks surprised that we're so well informed. "Alright, but did you know he's been hanging out at Club X?"

No, that's definitely news.

I've got a bad feeling I know why he's been going there.

Hank, however, obviously doesn't. "Is that supposed to mean something of import, or...?"

"It means he's recruiting again, baby," I explain with a sigh. "Club X is a night club- only mutants allowed. All the mercs hang out there. It's where- it's where Magneto found my brothers."

Now Raven looks bemused. "Who  _are_  you?" she repeats.

I grin wryly. "I told you already. I'm Vivien McCoy," I reply.

"My wife. Also known as Vixen," Hank adds quietly. "Formerly of the Brotherhood."

The shape-shifter's expression flickers for a moment- surprise? regret? I can neither tell nor do I particularly care- before becoming unreadable once more. "Interesting," she comments dryly. "Well, then-"

She turns to go.

"I've done what I've come to do. Good luck."

"You're not going to stay and help?" Hank calls to her retreating back.

"Nope," Raven replies, without turning around. "I've learned it's better to stay the hell out of Erik and Charles' reindeer games."

_What a coward,_  I think bitterly as she disappears into the darkness.

But at least she gave us something to go on.

We know exactly how to disable Magneto's device, but that doesn't mean jack shit if we don't know when he's going to set it off. Maybe if we go to Club X I can ask around and get a better idea...

"Well then," I murmur. "Might as well get going."

I step away from Hank, heading for the mansion's front door.

He hastens to open it for me, ever the gentleman. "Going where?" he asks blankly as he follows me inside.

"To Club X, of course," I tell him, moving quickly.

"You want to go to a nightclub that you  _know_  Erik has been frequenting?" His tone is incredulous. "Is that really wise?"

"Probably not," I admit. "But we need all the information we can get, and it'd be stupid not to use the opportunity."

Hank's silent for a long moment, long enough for us to reach our room. It's a good thing, too, because I smell a storm coming.

Sure enough-

"It'd be  _stupid_  to go looking for the man who wants you  _dead_ ," Hank retorts sharply once he's shut the door behind us. "What exactly are you planning?"

I take a deep inhale through my nose, praying for patience. "I plan on doing a little spying, Hank," I reply through my teeth. "It's something I'm good at. I won't get caught."

"Perhaps we should discuss this with Charles."

Now  _there's_  a stupid idea. Let's go tell Professor Mother Hen,  _that'll_  get things done.

"Don't turn this into an argument, Hank," I say testily. "We need information, you can't deny that. So I'm going, whether you like it or not."

I look him steadily in the eye to show him that I'm not backing down. I know his opinion and I appreciate his concern, but to me the possible benefits outweigh the risk of making this trip.

Hank sighs in defeat. "Alone?"

"Not if you choose to come with me," I reply calmly. I figure right now is  _not_  the best time to gloat about my victory in that stare down. I'm just glad he's accepting my choice, rather than tying my ass to the bed or something. "That's your decision."

He stands silent, but I already know what his answer will be. This is Hank McCoy we're talking about- he's not going to let his lady love go off into what he perceives as a dangerous situation by herself. Might as well be prepared.

I start digging around in the closet, looking for something for him to wear on our night out. It's slim pickings, too- God, Hank's got absolutely terrible fashion sense. After we stop Magneto's crazy plan we need to have a serious talk about why orange suede should  _not_  be a major component of his wardrobe.

"Alright," Hank calls out, just as I come out of the closet with my arms full. "I'm coming with you."

_Score for Team McCoy._

I grin and shove the bundle of clothes I picked out for him into his hands. "I know you are," I laugh. "Now put that on."

* * *

"You have to go back to your Beast form, baby," I tell Hank after we take a shower together to wash off the sweat from our footrace.

He frowns. "Why?"

"Because we're going to a mutants-only club," I explain patiently. "The bouncer's ability is sensing other mutants. He's going to be able to tell you're not a mutant while you're on your serum. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves right from the get-go."

"I would argue being blue and furry will attract plenty of notice on its own," Hank comments dryly.

I roll my eyes. "Just trust me, ok?"

"Fine," he sighs.

"Good," I say, smiling. "Now get out so I can do my hair."

We're about to go commit an act of espionage, yeah, but who says we can't look good doing it?

Hank pouts, but schleps out of the bathroom without protest. His woebegone expression kills me just a little bit- I know he had a  _much_  different vision for how this evening was going to turn out.

But I'm actually looking forward to this little trip, as strange as that sounds. Sure, there's going to be danger involved, but at least we're going  _out_  for once. It'll be the first time we've gone anywhere since we got married, so to me the excitement is weirdly justified.

I take my time with my makeup, purposely playing up my eyes and lips to distract from my freckles. Then I style my hair in an elegant French twist to emphasize my neck, which I've always thought to be one of my best features. It also puts my pointed ears on display- perfect for a night out in a mutant night club.

My dress is deliberately skimpy, because the theme of the night is sexy (and  _maybe_  a little slutty) siren. In my experience menfolk tend to lose their minds a little over the sight of naked flesh, making them putty in my hands.

The dress is fire-engine red, to match my lipstick, and has a halter top and a neckline that plunges to below my belly button. It's backless, with just enough fabric to cover my butt. Maximum skin exposure achieved.

Despite all that, I still feel a little self-conscious as I look at myself in the mirror. My gaze automatically seeks out the scar across my stomach, a permanent reminder of Myles' attack. It's barely visible anymore, but  _I_  know it's there. Talk about a confidence killer, Jesus.

I can't decide if I look good, or like I'm just a little girl who was playing dress up with her mom's wardrobe and makeup. How do I compare to Raven in Hank's eyes?

Only one way to find out, I suppose.


	100. Especially If You Mean It

**Especially If You Mean It**

"Ta-da!" I announce, stepping out of the bathroom.

Hank's mouth immediately drops open, and his eyes comically bug out of his head. He honestly reminds me of a cartoon character. My ego- a little wounded after the incident with Raven Darkholme earlier- perks up just a bit.

I giggle and spin around on my strappy heels so he can get a full view.

"Y-you're wearing that?" Hank sputters.

"Yup," I reply. Call me crazy, but I think his dumbstruck expression is  _adorable._  "What do you think?"

His mouth opens and shuts wordlessly, like a fish out of water.

Aw, I think he likes it. This is a better reaction than I could've hoped for.

My dress seems to have caused the power of speech to desert my mate- but I still see the desire instantly flare to life in his eyes. It's a hungry, animalistic, almost desperate look that makes my knees go weak and reminds me of the dangerous power of a feral male.

And  _damn,_  it's sexy.

Still not speaking, Hank suddenly rises to his feet and moves so quickly it's almost as if there's a magnetic force pulling him to me. He lifts me off my feet, presses me up against the bedroom wall, and kisses me deeply, over and over again until my only thoughts are of him and his touch.

Oh God.

A small part of me knows that we need to get going on our way to Club X. We have a mission to complete, and-

And Hank's lips on my skin feel  _really_  good, and the way he's pressing between my thighs feels like heaven, and his hands are getting right to work in all the ways he knows will make me melt.

Wait, what are we supposed to be doing again?

The mission, right. We have a job to do-

"Hank-" My protest comes out more like a moan. It's not at all convincing with my legs wrapped around his hips, my fingers tangled in his hair. "Hank, we have to-"

"Fifteen minutes," he murmurs against my breast. "You can time me."

* * *

"See?" he proudly remarks fifteen minutes later. Both of us are panting and satisfied. "I told you."

I chuckle breathlessly. "So you did," I reluctantly agree. "But now I have to go re-do my hair."

Hank nibbles on my bottom lip and allows me to regain my feet before straightening his own clothes. "I would apologize, but I'm not sorry," he replies smugly.

I snort and head back into the bathroom to tidy myself up.

My hair and lipstick are a mess at this point, and now I'm absolutely  _covered_  in Hank's scent. I can't decide if he did that to show his  _appreciation_  of my outfit or if it was a preemptive attempt to keep other men away from me, his mate, tonight. Either reasoning is down to his feral instincts, that's for damn sure.

_And here I was, thinking Hank was more evolved than that,_  I think dryly as I fix my lipstick.

But I guess I should've known better.

Feral instincts run deep, and for males especially there is no other drive stronger than those regarding their mates. For Hank, protecting me is priority number one. His scent on me is a warning to other males that messing with me means dealing with  _him._

I keep his good intentions in mind when he's being a big blue over-protective worrywart. It's just hard sometimes, you know?

But anyway- thankfully I'm ready much quicker this time around, so we're able to leave without much further delay.

We don't exactly sneak our way out of the mansion, but we take care not to draw attention to ourselves all the same. I'll be damned before I let any of the other X-Men get involved in this- too many players in the game means more opportunities for discovery.

To be honest... if I had my way I wouldn't even want  _Hank_  to come along on this mission, with the extra risk his presence entails. Not only that- he's  _definitely_  not going to like watching the tactics I'm going to use to get information about Magneto's bat shit plans tonight. Not a damn bit.

But I promised the night I almost died that from then on it would be the two of us against the world, and goddammit, I'm a mutant of my word.

I have to keep reminding myself that as Hank drives along at a snail's pace. God, at this rate we're  _never_  going to get there. I can't tell if the slow-motion is due to reluctance over our night out, or nervousness about the passengers of other cars seeing us. Knowing Hank, it's probably both.

"If you keep driving like a grandma we're never going to get there," I finally observe. "At least do the speed limit, baby, or a cop's going to think you're drunk."

He sighs and bumps up the speed a little. "Any other comments about my driving?"

"No, but..."

I should probably warn him now. I know he's not going to like this,  _at all._

"Yes?"

"When we get there, I need you to pretend you don't know me," I say quietly.

I watch him carefully, noting the immediate flash of anguish crossing his face. Seeing it breaks my heart a tiny bit.

The insecurities of a lifetime aren't going to fade away within a few months, I know, but I still wish Hank knew better than to think I could  _ever_  be embarrassed to be seen in public with him when he's in his Beast form.

Floppy collars and polyester, maybe. But  _never_  because he's furry and blue.

He glances over at my face and then morosely shifts his eyes down. Of course his gaze immediately zeroes in on my left hand, which is conspicuously missing his ring. I took it off for the night so I could appear single.

"I see." His tone is stiff with hurt. "May I ask why?"

"I need people to talk to me," I explain, trying to break it gently. "And you-"

"-Are a furry monster."

"-Are a very _imposing_ figure," I argue pointedly. "Trust me, baby, you're not even going to be the scariest person in there. But if you're next to me the whole time I'm not going to be able to..."

Ugh, how do I put this gently?

"You won't be able to flirt with other men," Hank growls, clenching the steering wheel so tight I'm surprised he doesn't crush it.

His obvious jealousy makes me roll my eyes, even though I expected it. It's really fucking rich, coming from him after what happened earlier with Raven. At least I have a  _reason_  for inviting the attention, shit. Now isn't the time for pointless histrionics.

"I'll be more approachable on my own, and you know it. I need people to  _talk,_  Hank," I snap. "We're trying to stop Magneto, remember? If flirting with random guys is what it takes, then so be it.  _You're_  the one I'm going home with. Don't you trust me?"

"Yes," he replies sullenly. "Of course I do."

"Uh huh. That's why you absolutely covered me with your scent tonight," I mutter, my tone acidic. "Because you obviously know I'll tell guys to 'back off' without your scent just doing it for me, right?"

Hank squirms shamefully in his seat.

I let the observation hang there between us, waiting for him to make some sort of comment or excuse.

He stays miserably silent.

Finally I speak, venting all of the painful emotions I felt earlier. "You're not the only one who gets jealous, you know," I inform him. "I almost scratched that bitch's eyes out tonight for being so obvious about looking you over. Like I wasn't standing  _right there_. And then you, you just  _let_  her ignore me. You were in love with that woman for years, Hank. How do you think that made me feel?"

Flirting with random strangers in order to get information versus my husband  _ignoring_  me in favor of his first love. To me, there's no comparison at all.

"Vivien..." Hank swallows thickly.

"Do you still want her?" I'm so afraid of the answer I can't bear to look at him.

"No. I have no interest in Raven at all," he replies firmly. "I- I apologize for not responding in a more appropriate way. I was caught off-guard by her showing up and didn't know how to react. Forgive me, Vivien. I'm only human."

There he goes again with the first-class apologies. Will I  _ever_  be able to stay mad at him?

I huff in reply.

Hank tentatively reaches out and takes my left hand in his right, squeezing gently.

"What I felt for her in the past is over. Not only that, it  _pales_  in comparison to my feelings for you. You have to know that I never thought I'd feel about anyone the way I feel about you," he tells me. "I've waited my whole life to find you, darling. Someone to belong to, to give all of myself to-"

His pause makes me glance over just in time to catch him wincing.

"This sounds like sentimental drivel. Even if I mean it."

"I think right now I need to  _hear_  some sentimental drivel," I retort. " _Especially_  if you mean it."

Hank chuckles. "Alright, fine," he agrees. "You're the love of my life, Vivien. I'm still afraid that one morning I'll wake up and realize you're a dream that's been cruelly taken away. Or that you'll realize you could have done so much better than me and grow to resent that you're stuck with me. I can't even bear the thought."

I scoff at that idea, trying to hide how much his words soothed me. I'll never admit it, but I kinda like it when Hank gets all mushy like that. "Well, I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not going to resent you. So you need to trust me, Hank," I tell him sternly.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And stop selling yourself short," I add, grinning. "Why would I need another man? I already have one who's smart, funny, sweet, sexy, and a total stud in the sack."

He smiles and brings my hand up to his lips for a kiss. "I love you," he says fervently.

"I love you, Hank."

* * *

Not long after that we pull into a quiet parking lot in front of the familiar business warehouse that hides Club X.

"That's it," I tell Hank, pointing across the street.

"Really?"

Yeah, I guess I can understand his incredulity.

Club X is hidden in a building that has a nondescript brick face and a single overhead light over the steel double doors. No advertising sign or flashing lights. It looks just like a boring old warehouse, to hide it from outsiders.

"Yup," I reply. "It's an underground scene, remember? Can't be too flashy, or it'll attract unwanted attention."

Hank shrugs uneasily. "If you say so."

I reach over and squeeze his hand. "It'll be ok, baby," I assure him. "If anything goes sideways, just follow my lead."

"Right." He doesn't seem all that convinced.

In an attempt to soothe him I lean over the gear shift and kiss him. "Remember, wait ten minutes before you come in," I remind him.

"Ok," Hank agrees, but I highly suspect he's going to be right behind me anyway.

With one last glance in the mirror to double check my hair and makeup I hop out of the car and saunter across the street.

I slip inside the double doors into the tiny, boxlike anteroom. Standing in front of the second set of doors, which open into the club proper, is a thin, bald man who's so ghostly pale the dim lighting makes him almost glow.

"Hello, Caliban," I say cheerfully, giving him a smile that shows my fangs.

He gives me a tiny smile and opens the door for me.

For a moment I have a horrible vision of Magneto, James and Myles waiting just inside the doors to kill me, but I brush away the thought.

I square my shoulders and step into Club X.


	101. Playing the Game

**Playing the Game**

Club X is just as I remember it.

The large dance floor is sunk into the ground and accessible by sets of steps on each side, and the space is ringed by red velvet couches set against all the walls except for an empty stage on the left. Every few feet along the couches there are small tables with tea lamps on top, the only real lighting except for the dancing glimmers off the disco balls on the ceiling. It's a soft light that bathes everything in gold.

On the right there are a few VIP rooms, their doorways covered by gauzy curtains. And then directly across from me there's a huge bar that's packed with mutants ready to party on a Saturday night.

I take a moment to survey the crowd, keeping an eye out for familiar faces. I see a few from my mercenary days- God, it feels like a lifetime ago- but thankfully no sign of my brothers or Magneto. That suits me just fine.

There's only one guy I take note to stay far, far away from: Sabretooth, a huge feral male I know by sight and reputation. He's easy to pick out in a crowd because he's easily six foot six and looks like he kills puppies for fun on the regular. Sabretooth is a scary, murderous bastard who I've heard likes to rape and kill for shits and giggles. Not a good guy.

He puts off such an aura of crazy that everyone is giving him a wide berth, and you better believe I'm going to do the same.

With that in mind I head for the bar and buy myself a drink. Once I have it in hand I turn around and lean against the bar, idly playing with the stirrer in my drink as I survey the crowd.

Looking for my first target.

Pretty quickly I notice that a good-looking guy sitting at one of the little tables at the edge of the dance floor is staring at me. When I lock gazes with him from across the room he gives me a cocky grin.

And we have a taker.

I smile seductively and raise my eyebrows in challenge. Then I turn back towards the bar and glance over my shoulder, an invitation to join me.

Within moments I sense a male coming up behind me on my left- the guy is now at my side, lounging against the bar. I know he's watching me, though I purposely don't look at him. Some feminine instinct tells me this is a man who enjoys the chase, so playing hard to get is the way to go.

Before the pretty boy can make his next move, though, I feel a familiar presence settle in the bar stool to my right.

It's Hank.

I don't have to look over- I don't even have to  _smell_  him- to know it's my mate, because every cell in my body lights up like Christmas when he's next to me.

That doesn't mean I'm happy that he's there, though. What kind of masochist is he, wanting a fucking front row seat to me flirting with other guys? This is going to be hard enough without the goddamn audience. Jesus Christ, man.

"I'm Ken," the man to my left says, his voice artificially deep.

I  _barely_  avoid rolling my eyes.

"That's nice," I reply. I'm still pretending to ignore him, but I purposely smile just a tiny bit.

"What's your name?"

I grin coyly, but make no other answer.

"Come on," Ken urges, scooting closer. "You can tell me. How about this- I buy you a drink, you tell me your name. Deal?"

I feign an irritated huff. "Alright, fine. Ah'm Hannah," I tell him in an exaggerated Southern drawl. "Happy now, sugah?"

We go over the basics, though I make Ken work hard for every made-up little factoid I give him. Doing that forces him to give more information about himself in exchange, which suits my purpose here.

The less interested in the conversation I seem, the harder Ken tries. Men like him are  _so_  damn easy to manipulate because they have that pathological need to "win" a girl in order to preserve their fragile masculinity.

It used to amuse me to play this game, to string guys along until I finally took pity on them (or got drunk or high enough) and went to bed with them. Ken's just the James Dean type I used to go for- tight jeans and shirt, leather jacket and perfectly styled hair- but now I can't help feeling distaste for all of this insincere bullshit.

I guess it's because now I know better.

Now that I know what real love and respect look like it couldn't be easier to feign disinterest in this guy. Eventually Ken becomes so desperate for my attention that he stoops to belittling the other patrons in order to make himself look better.

"Check out the guy behind you," he murmurs hopefully, leaning in much too close. He covertly gestures towards Hank on my other side. "He looks like a blue Lon Chaney, Jr."

I've been bored with this dude for a good long while- he's definitely not a sparkling conversationalist, and he lacks the "mutant and proud" attitude of the Brotherhood, meaning he's got no information for me to tease out of him. So I've been looking for an excuse to break off this conversation anyway.

And also,  _no one_  gets away with making fun of my Hank.

I bare my teeth. "Does that make me Gloria Holden?" I hiss in Ken's face.

He stumbles backwards, horrified, and scrambles away from the sight of my fangs. Somehow I can't manage an ounce of sympathy for this dick.

On my other side Hank snickers quietly at the manner of Ken's dismissal.

I turn towards him. "What are you laughing about?" I snap.

Hank immediately sobers. "Nothing," he replies, trying to play innocent- but I'm not fooled at all.

"Pretending to be interested in another guy isn't easy for me, you know," I scold. "Having my mate right behind me makes it even harder."

"Sorry," he mumbles, and this time his contrition is sincere. He hangs his head in dejection. "I'll just- go sit over there or something."

I growl under my breath, exasperated. "Jesus Christ, it's like I just kicked a puppy in the face," I mutter unhappily. I reach under the bar and gently squeeze his thigh. "I wish you'd take me someplace like this just for fun, together."

How much fun would it be to come to this place and just people-watch together, the way we used to in the park? Only it would be even better here, watching all of these mutants enjoy themselves.

I'd like to think it's not too much to ask for.

Shaking off the despondency, I finish my drink and roll my shoulders.

"Back to work," I sigh.

This time I head for the dance floor, where I easily find a partner. It feels good to dance, to let the rhythm flow through my heart and my limbs. If only I could actually dance with  _Hank_  instead of all of these tool bags in polyester, I'd be having a grand old time.

But instead for the next hour or so I go through men like tissues, searching for one who can give me the information I need.

"Do you come here often?" I whisper suggestively, over and over again.

And with each no, it's on to the next.

The lack of headway is really getting on my nerves- I'm starting to wonder if the whole evening will be a bust and I've been letting myself get groped all night for nothing.

And then I see something that makes my mood that much worse.

From across the room I catch sight of Hank speaking to another woman.

She's dressed in just a sparkly gold bathing suit, the better to show off the tiger stripes on her otherwise tawny fur. The color is a sharp contrast to her auburn hair. I notice a distinctly feline quality in the shape of her nose and lips, which makes me think she's a feral.

And she's also basically sitting in my mate's lap.

The sight makes my blood boil and a metallic tang come to my mouth. It's everything I can do not to march right over there and slap her. I mean- use your nose, bitch. He's obviously got a mate! Go find your own man, damn.

Hank glances around at that moment, catching my eye before looking away again quickly. I see the guilt flash across his face, though he doesn't extricate himself from Ms. Swimwear.

Oh, he better have a damn good reason for that.

"You alright, babe?" my dance partner asks.

I smile automatically, my mask back in place. "Of course, sugah."

He grins back. "You're not from around here, are you?"

I giggle and shake my head. "No," I reply. "Ah sure do like it here, though. This place is nice, with all these mutants. You come here a lot?"

"Yeah, I do. Every Saturday night."

_Bingo._

I fan myself with my hand. "Sure is warm in here," I muse aloud, a heavy hint. Enough dancing- time to probe this guy for some intel.

"Let me buy you a drink."

We settle down at one of the small tables on the edge of the dance floor, sipping our drinks and talking. His name is Byron Calley, he's pyrokinetic, and he's from New Jersey.

"Where are you from?"

"Alabama," I lie. "We definitely don't have anything like this place back home."

"Not a lot of mutant sympathy there?" Byron guesses, his expression knowing.

"Definitely not. They're more like to lynch a mutant than not," I say, pretending to shiver. Then I reach out and stroke his arm suggestively. "Ah'm glad Ah'm  _here,_  meetin' a  _fine_  mutant gentleman like yourself. You wouldn't let anybody hurt me, would ya?"

_Ugh. Someone gag me with a spoon._

But the flattery works like a charm. Byron's chest puffs out a little bit. "Of course not," he agrees. "I'm all about protecting mutants- actually, I'm involved in a big project right now."

_Now_  we're getting somewhere. A big project?

It's a struggle to restrain my pressing interest, how excited I am that I might be close to getting the information I need. I manage to seem merely curious as I ask, "oh? What kind of project?"

He grins slyly. "I don't know if I should tell you."

My fingers are itching to reach out and throttle him until he spills the beans.

But instead I just pout and look at him through my eyelashes. "Aw, come on. Please?"

Byron wraps an arm around my waist and draws me in close. "Alright, but it's a secret, ok?" he whispers. When I nod he says, "you remember the guy who tried to kill Nixon at the White House?"

"Yeah."

"He's going to do something that will make it safe for mutants everywhere, starting here in New York."

"How?" I ask, feigning only mild interest.

Byron shrugs. "Not really sure," he admits. What a fucking moron. Not only is he participating in a plan he knows nothing about, he's also  _bragging_  about it. "But he's been coming here, inviting mutants he thinks are worthy to have a front row seat."

"And you're worthy," I murmur, snuggling closer against his side. "He'd be downright stupid to not think so."

"Yeah, he thinks so," Byron agrees proudly.

I giggle and bat my eyes at him. "And do you think Ah am?"

He pretends to think about it, chuckling when I pout again. "Yeah, I do," he finally says, cupping my face with his hand.

I lean in so close our lips are only a breath way from a kiss. "Well?" I press. "Where's the show, sugah?"

"The Statue of Liberty, next Friday night," Byron whispers. "The Fourth of July."

I burst into laughter, right in this fucker's face. "Are you fucking  _kidding_  me?"

My least favorite megalomaniac definitely has a sense for metaphorical grandeur, doesn't he?

Fucking crazy bastard.

Going through with his plan on Independence Day, at the nation's symbol of freedom- what better time and place to turn everyone into mutants (he thinks) and start a new age for our kind? God, could he get any  _more_  cliche?

Then again, should I expect any less from a dude who likes to wear capes?

Byron, meanwhile, is offended by my outburst. "What's so funny?" he demands, drawing away from me.

"Nothing," I reply quickly, sobering up.

_Get it together, McCoy. Don't let him get suspicious._

Thinking quickly, I lean in and nibble on Byron's ear. "Well, sugah, Ah'll just have to see you there, won't Ah? It's a date," I breathe. I feel his body tense up in response, my offense already forgotten. "But right now Ah gotta go."

As I pull away he catches my hand. "Wait!" he says, surprised by my sudden urge to leave. "Stay a while. Or better yet- let me take you home."

"Hmm. Ah don't think so," I hedge. His eyes darken in a way that's all too familiar to me as I lean down, purposely giving him a perfect view down my dress. I bring his hand up to my mouth and gently bite his index finger, looking at him through my lashes. "What kinda good Southern girl would Ah be if Ah did that?"

I giggle at his dumbfounded expression.

"Ah'll see you around, Byron," I tell him, and then turn on my heel and disappear into the crowd before he can reply.

_Jesus, what a sucker,_ I think to myself _. But at least that's mission accomplished._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who aren't in the know, Lon Chaney Jr. and Gloria Holden are known for playing The Wolf Man and Dracula's Daughter back in the 1940s.


	102. This Road Goes Two Ways

**This Road Goes Two Ways**

I hide in the bathroom for a few minutes to make good and sure I've ditched Byron before I set out to locate Hank. I find him just as I saw him last, speaking to that whore of a feral female.

_At least this time she seems like the wind's been taken out of her sails,_ I muse, observing the woman's dejected expression _. Maybe she finally wised up and got a whiff of Hank's scent._

As I watch she kisses my mate on the cheek before quickly standing and making for the exit.

Part of me wants to go skin her and use her pelt as a new throw rug, but I know my jealousy is largely unjustified. Wasn't  _I_  just hanging all over some random dude? It would be hypocritical of me to blow up at Hank over this. We're going home  _together,_  and that's what matters.

Hank doesn't move after the female leaves. He stays put as I approach, gazing into space like he's deep in thought. He's so absorbed he doesn't seem to notice me until I take a seat on the couch next to him.

"I can't take you anywhere, can I?" I ask lightly, gesturing towards the door the female just left through.

He scowls at me. "I could say the same of you," he retorts sullenly.

I stick my tongue out at him. "Hey, at least it worked," I tell him. "I found out Magneto is making a move on-"

"The Fourth of July," Hank finishes. When I raise my eyebrows in question he explains, "the lady who just walked away invited me- and you too, actually. I think Erik wants to use an audience to keep us busy while his machine does its work."

Alright, I'm impressed. He wasn't just schmoozing that female for no reason, he was actually trying to get information the same as me.

The last remnants of my burning jealousy vanish into thin air.

"Very nice, baby," I murmur, smiling. "I'll make a spy out of you, yet."

He shakes his head. "No, not really," he replies hastily. "I actually feel terrible- that lady was very nice and I was just-  _using_  her for information. I think for a while there she forgot that I had a mate, and when I brought you up again she became sad and left."

_Oh, my sweet Hank. You are truly too good for this world- and_  certainly _too good for me._

"You are so adorably clueless," I mutter. He really has no idea how attractive he is, or how singular his combination of goodness and charm really is.

"What do you mean?" he asks, puzzled.

"Don't worry about it," I assure him, squeezing his hand. "It's part of your charm."

I sigh.

"I guess we should get going then, now that we got what we came for."

I begin to stand up, but Hank catches my hand again and pulls me back down next to him. "No, wait," he says. "Let's just stay here for a bit."

I frown at him, confused over his sudden desire to stay when he was so reluctant to come here in the first place.

"It's- it's rather nice, being among all these mutants," he explains awkwardly. "Adults, I mean. I want to enjoy this with you for a while. If you want to, of course."

I smile at him, elated. "I'd love to."

* * *

And for a while we do just that. Hank gets us both drinks, and together we sit and watch the crowd.

Every now and then I catch myself tapping my foot unconsciously when a song I like comes on, but I know better than to ask Hank to dance with me. Our wedding reception was a very special occasion, a one time thing. I'd have better luck trying to turn lead into gold than getting him to dance now.

Instead I occasionally point out people I remember from my mercenary days, before James and Myles convinced me to join the Brotherhood. I think Hank's a little surprised by that because I don't really talk about that time in my life. It's a dark period I've been glad to put behind me.

"No one's coming up to say hello," Hank observes quietly, and he's right. Though they make respectful signs of recognition, my former colleagues make no move to approach. "Is it because of your reputation, or because of my  _'imposing'_ -"

I snort over his sarcastic emphasis on the word.

"-Presence?" he asks. A more troubling thought occurs to him. "Or do you think Erik put a price on your head?"

"No, I doubt it," I assure him. "They're just being polite, baby. Mercs aren't exactly known for small talk."

"If you say so," he murmurs dubiously.

After a few minutes another good song begins to play. As my foot starts to tap again I notice Hank toss back the rest of his drink and stand up. He turns to me and offers me his hand.

"Time to go home?" I guess, rising to my feet.

"No," he replies. I hear him gritting his teeth. "Come dance with me, sweetheart."

I raise my eyebrows incredulously. "I thought you didn't dance, Hank."

"I don't," he agrees. "So please don't hold this against me."

He leads me onto the dance floor with the air of someone being brought to the chopping block, the poor thing. I appreciate that he's trying for me, you know?

I take pity on him and make sure we don't do anything too complicated. I sway to the beat with my hips pressed close to his, and Hank seems relieved to follow my lead. Occasionally I see a flash of panicked self-consciousness in his eyes, and when that happens I run my fingers over his chest and through his hair to soothe him. His own hands hold me close, roaming all over my back and making my spine tingle.

God, it feels good to be back in his arms again. Forget everyone else- this is  _my_  man, and I would pick him over the best dancers in the world.

"Is this so terrible?" I murmur eventually.

"I suppose not," he concedes.

We both laugh, and he leans down to give me a kiss.

I return the gesture with interest, just to remind him that he's  _mine._  The way he responds, matching my passion with his own, makes me completely weak in the knees and  _extremely_  anxious to go home, if you know what I mean.

"Let's get out of here," I whisper against his lips.

"Ok."

_Yeah, didn't think you would argue with me on that one, baby._

We're both grinning like idiots as I lead him to the door, already anticipating what we're going to do to each other as soon as we get home-

And then in walks James and Myles.

Oh shit. Oh  _shit._

Hank immediately freezes, but I don't hesitate.

I dart into the (thankfully empty) VIP room to our left, dragging him with me before either of my brothers glance in our direction.

Both of us stand ready to fight, just in case, but it seems like I was fast enough. We watch the two ferals obliviously walk by through the gauzy curtain.

"Phew," I breathe. "That was close."

"Agreed," Hank murmurs. "Darling, we need to get out of here."

Yeah, maybe. But it'd be nice to know what exactly my brothers are up to, wouldn't it?

I flatten myself against the wall and peer out the curtain into the club beyond. I see my brothers on either side of Magneto, flanking him like guards.

"Magneto followed them in," I whisper to Hank.

"Then we  _really_  need to get out of here."

"Uh huh," I agree absently, but really I'm too busy watching where the Brotherhood is going. "They're meeting with Sabretooth, it looks like."

"Who?"

"The huge feral in the corner that everyone's been avoiding all night," I explain. "He's for hire, but I've heard he's also one of those types who likes killing and raping just for shits and giggles. Not a good guy."

"Would he recognize you?" Hank asks anxiously.

"No," I assure him, "he wouldn't. I've never met him, I just know him by reputation. And I want to keep it that way. I mean, did you get a look at that guy? Imagine what he'd do to a frail like me."

"I'd prefer not to," my mate replies, his tone grim.

Out in the club proper I see both of my brothers noticeably flinch when Sabretooth makes a gesture with his hand.

"He's even got my brothers cowed," I observe. I'm caught between admiration for Sabretooth's apparent strength and disdain for my brothers pussing out like that. "That's not like them. Maybe that fight with you finally taught them some manners."

Hank grunts dismissively. "Perhaps," he says. "But right now we need to focus on getting out of here without being seen, Vivien."

"Hmm."

Yeah, we could get out of here, but we just had a great opportunity fall into our laps. Wouldn't it be a waste to not use it?

My brothers and Magneto have their backs to the VIP room, with the dance floor between us and them. They wouldn't see me coming. And then Sabretooth wouldn't know me from Eve even if he did happen to see me. I bet I could get close enough to listen to what they're saying.

"I wonder..."

I take a step towards the doorway, but Hank grabs my wrist and yanks me back towards him. "Don't you dare," he snaps, pinning me against his chest.

"Let go of me, dammit," I hiss.

"Not until you get that ridiculous thought out of your head," Hank retorts sharply. He keeps a firm, unbreakable hold on my upper arms as he leans me back just far enough to look straight into my eyes. "We got what we came for, Vivien. We won't gain anything by trying to listen in any further. We just run the risk of getting captured."

I shake my head. "After everything I did, you really think they're going to keep me alive?" I ask bitterly.

Hank hesitates for a moment. "All the more reason not to go courting more trouble."

Trouble.

_Trouble,_  that's all Magneto brings. Trouble, misery, and death.

Stryker's family, my friends, my brothers trying to kill me... in the end, it can all be laid at Magneto's door. It  _all_  begins and ends with him. And if you pull a tree out by the roots, or cut the head off a snake...

It goes against everything the X-Men stand for, but since when have I been good at following rules? If I kill him now, Magneto's plan would most likely die with him. He loves to hold on to information so much there's no way anyone else knows the whole plan. The Brotherhood would fall apart without him, just like the first organization died when Magneto got captured for killing JFK.

One life in exchange for the safety of the entire human population of New York City.

The math seems pretty obvious here.

"What if I could take Magneto out?" I suggest. "Tonight?"

Hank considers it for a long moment.

"I understand what you're saying," he says slowly, "and I can see the logic in your thinking. But I can't let you do it. It's too risky, even if I help you."

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.

"You know I'm not going to let you try that alone," he tells me. "So what we have is Erik out there with three ferals, two of whom are your own brothers. Even if we succeed in killing him, do you really think we could both make it out alive afterwards? Even after everything they've done to you, do you really believe you could murder your brothers- or stand aside while I did- if it came down to it? Is that who you are? Who you want to be?"

Dammit, I hate it when he's right like this.

Because he  _is_  right- no matter how much I hate them for what they've done to me and the people I love, I don't think I could ever kill James and Myles. If not for who they've become, but because of my love for the boys I grew up with. Killing them would make me just as monstrous as they are now, on top of making me completely unworthy of  _ever_  looking Hank in the eye again.

I hang my head in defeat. "No," I whisper. "That's not who I want to be."

Hank draws me in for an embrace. "I know it isn't," he murmurs, kissing my forehead.

We stand like that for a moment before I get a hold of myself and go back to keeping watch.

And what I see makes me almost shit my pants.

"Oh shit," I gasp. "Oh shit- Hank, they're coming this way. What if they come in here?"

It's a rhetorical question, obviously.

If they come in here and find us, we're both dead. Simple as that.

"Get out of here," Hank tells me. He obviously thinks that I could make it to the door without being noticed, though he- big, furry, and blue- wouldn't be able to. "Before they get too close-"

I step closer and wrap my arms around him. "Now  _you're_  being ridiculous," I snap. "This road goes two ways, baby."

_It's me and you, against the world._


	103. Why Me?

**Why Me?**

Hank holds me tightly, desperately, as we hide just inside the doorway, against the corner that shares a wall with the other VIP room next door.

"You first," a low, rumbled voice says. Sabretooth, I'm guessing.

And it's outside the  _other_  room, not ours.

Thank God.

"Is that other room empty?" Magneto's question is directed towards one of my brothers.

I let out a breathless moan, sandwiched as I am between Hank and the wall. It's loud enough to be audible to an individual with sensitive hearing, if they're listening close enough.

Hank frowns at me in confusion.

"Yes, yes, more, more," I gasp, like I'm getting fucked into oblivion.

Hey, I know it's a long shot. But it's also the only thing I could think of to save us right now.

"Don't stop!"

I pinch Hank for being slow on the uptake.

"You like that, don't you, baby?" he asks,  _finally_  catching the hint. His face is flushing purple in embarrassment- dirty talker, he is not. "You like it when I- fuck you like this?"

I cry out in reply, encouraging him on.

"It's just a couple doing it, boss," I hear James say obsequiously. He clears his throat awkwardly. "Uh, do you want me to clear them out?"

"No, I think we can afford to leave them to it," Magneto replies. He sounds amused. "Both of you stand watch out here."

Well shit.

We're safe for the moment, but how the hell are we supposed to get out of here with my brothers right outside?

Thank God they haven't smelled me. I wonder-?

Oh goddammit.

They haven't smelled me because Hank covered me so thoroughly with his scent when we had sex earlier, before we left the mansion. My brothers aren't familiar enough with my mate's scent to recognize him, so his smell- camouflaging mine- blends in to the masses of mutants here in this club.

And now he's  _never_  going to let me live this down.

I must say, though: showing jealous instincts for the first time, flirting to get information, cursing? It's been a night of firsts for Hank.

"I can't believe you just said 'fuck,'" I whisper, trying not to laugh. "I don't think I've even heard you cuss before, and then you come out with that. It was kinda hot."

Hank tries to give me a reproving look, but the effect is ruined by the purple flush in his cheeks. "I can't believe how convincing you sounded," he counters. "Wait- you don't fake it like that with me, do you?"

I snort. "There's no  _need_  to fake anything with you, Hank," I assure him truthfully, running a claw along his jawline.

He looks relieved.

"You really think he's going to help?" a voice outside our room asks, ruining the moment. It's Myles, and he's speaking so softly that Sabretooth and Magneto won't be able to hear over the sound of their own conversation in the other room.

Hank and I instantly freeze, listening intently.

"I don't see why not," James replies. "Even if he's not in it for mutant rights, Mags has the other offer to make him."

Myles lets out a growl of disapproval.

"Knock it off, Jackal," James hisses. "We don't  _actually_  have to give him Vivien-"

_Um,_  excuse _me?_

"We just need him to  _think_  we will so he'll help the Brotherhood take out the X-Geeks. With any luck he'll permanently get rid of Beast for us, and then she's all ours."

I open my mouth to voice my indignation, but Hank claps a hand over my lips. He furiously shakes his head in warning, reminding me not to give us away.

"What about the other frail, the tiger lady?" Myles presses anxiously.

"Relax, little bro," James assures him. "He's not going to have her, either. It's just you and me. We'll share the two of them between us. I'll even let you pick first."

_Share_  them? What the  _hell_  do they mean by that?

Oh my God. They-

"But Sissy already has a mate."

"Yeah, but she won't for long," James retorts, already annoyed. He's never had the patience to deal with Myles, how he needs to be constantly reassured like a child. I bet it's even worse now that I'm not there to run interference anymore. "We'll get rid of him, and then she'll be ours. We're not trying to be her mate, we're just trying to make cubs and keep the species going. Right?"

"Right."

_I think I'm going to be sick._

"Hey, do you think that couple's still going at it?"

I glare at Hank meaningfully until he gets the point and uncovers my mouth. As soon as he does I let out a strangled gasp and then sharply jab him in the stomach. He lets out an exclamation of surprise that could be mistaken for a climax.

My brothers chuckle.

"Fox, Jackal," Magneto's voice suddenly calls from inside the other room.

"Yeah, boss?"

"A word about the terms of the agreement, please."

Hank peeks his head out.

Within seconds he's pulled me out of our hiding place and towards the exit. He watches behind our backs the entire way to make sure none of our enemies make a reappearance before we can escape.

Then we're in the anteroom, where Caliban gives us a knowing grin. I guess we look like a pair who decided to hook up for the night to him.

Once we're outside Hank scoops me into his arms and bolts across the street, apparently impatient of my pace in my high heels. He places me in the car, hops in the driver's seat, and floors it.

Safe. We're safe.

For now, at least.

I kick off my shoes and curl into a ball in the seat, leaning my head against the window glass. I feel like a bomb just went off in my head.

Can you blame me?

Magneto and my brothers are using  _me-_  and the tiger lady Hank spoke to, Lucia- as a carrot for Sabretooth to help with their crazy plot. They're willing to commit  _incest_  in some sort of whacked out attempt to perpetuate the feral species. How fucking psycho is that?

I can't believe this. My mind refuses to wrap itself around the idea that my brothers could be that far gone and insane. But I heard it with my own ears, didn't I? There's no escaping the cold, hard facts.

Just when I think James and Myles can't sink any lower, they go and prove me wrong.

"Sweetheart?" Hank asks gently.

"Yeah?" I whisper.

"How do you feel?"

What kind of fucking question is that? Come on, Hank. You know better than that.

But I'm too torn up mentally to snap at him. "I just found out my own brothers are trying to sell me like a side of beef to a serial-killing rapist, and then double-cross him to keep me themselves," I mutter, glowering out the window. "How do you think I feel?"

"I believe the term in common vernacular is 'pissed.'"

My bitter, humorless laugh quickly turns into a sob that I brutally suppress. "They're going to try to kill you," I whisper. The thought is horrifying, but I know it's true.

The only way to break Hank's claim on me, making it so I could have another man's baby, is by killing him.

See, the whole point of a male marking a female, claiming her as his mate, is so she can only have children by  _him,_  and no one else. There's probably some sort of scientific explanation for it- antibodies and antigens or something. I don't really know.

What I  _do_  know are the stories, passed down by my mother's Choctaw family. My mom made me understand from a very young age how important mates are for ferals, considering how we mate for life.

When a claimed female dies her mate doesn't live long after as a rule. The loss of a mate is too much for a male feral to take, because it represents a failure of everything he is- a protector, a provider. They just can't handle the loneliness and end it all as soon as they can.

Females are different. A female who's lost her mate can't be truly claimed again, but she  _can_  technically get pregnant by other males once that bond is broken.

Let's be real, though- is a woman who's lost her life partner going to  _want_  to carry another man's baby? Of course not.

But for many feral males, willingness doesn't matter.

That's what they want to do to me and Hank. To kill the love of my life and force me to have their incestuous freak children. It's worse than a Stephen King novel, Jesus.

"Yes," Hank agrees calmly. "They're going to try."

His serene acceptance of the circumstances is deeply unsettling.

I sit up straight in my seat and scowl at him. "Doesn't that  _bother_  you?" I demand.

"Of course it does," he replies indignantly. "I don't want to die- not any time soon, at least. After all this time I finally have someone to live for: you. And I plan to, for a very long time. I want to grow old with you, darling."

He grins.

"Well, you'd probably say old- _er_ , but still."

The joke falls flat under the circumstances. It honestly feels like a lame attempt to distract me. From what, though?

I stare at Hank, suddenly getting the feeling that he's hiding something from me. Call it intuition, but something ain't right.

The composed look on his face when we heard my brothers' plans for us, his calmness now-

"You didn't seem surprised," I observe suspiciously. "About any of it. Not even my brothers trying to go all Old Testament on me. And come to think of it- you didn't really answer when I asked if you honestly thought they'd keep me alive, if they caught us. Why is that?"

Hank doesn't answer. He's pretending to be concentrating on driving, a big red flag.

"What aren't you telling me, Hank?" I demand in a hiss. "Did you already know about this?"

He grimaces.

"Well?"

Hank sighs. "I deduced some of it," he admits. "When Charles and I came back after getting Stryker from your apartment he sensed your brothers keeping watch and read their minds. He told me how much they hated me- not just for taking their sister away, but also because you're the only female feral of child-bearing age they were aware of at that point. It's not too much of a logical leap to surmise they would eventually try to get rid of me and get you back for that purpose."

There isn't a word for how I feel right now. This combination of disgust and fury towards my brothers for  _daring_  to think of doing this to me, added to the sorrow of how long they've been considering it. This isn't some spur of the moment, crazy decision. This is a carefully calculated  _plan._

"Why didn't you say anything?" I whisper.

"Logically speaking, I didn't have a chance at first," Hank tells me. "We were too busy convincing the X-Men to not throw us out for sneaking around together. But it was more than that. Your brothers had just killed all of our friends out of spite, and then they tried to murder you for daring to fall in love with me. The knowledge that they would have such sickening designs on you after all of that would only hurt you further, and I wanted to spare you that pain."

His next words are almost a growl.

"And it's not like it matters in the long run," he mutters fiercely. "They'll only touch you over my dead body."

"Weren't you listening?" I snap. "That's what the plan is! There's three of them, Hank, and two of us. I'm not a fucking genius like you, but that math definitely isn't in our favor."

Hank takes a deep, calming breath in through his nose rather than losing his temper.

I almost wish he  _would._  I  _want_  to be pissed off, to rage at something and get these poisonous feelings out of me. His non-reactions give me nothing to vent against, however misdirected and unfair my anger towards him would be.

"Dammit," I snarl, slamming my head back against the head rest. "Why me?"

"Because you're a feral, Vivien," Hank explains. "They want to perpetuate the species, and the best way to ensure that is to breed with another feral."

"But  _my_  dad wasn't even a mutant," I protest desperately. I want to find a loophole somehow, to poke holes in my brothers' reasoning.

But of course it doesn't matter. Hank isn't the one that needs convincing.

"And the fact that you and your brothers are all ferals is astonishing because of that," he replies gently. "Your mother must have been class four or five, otherwise you would've been born an utter weakling. You're obviously not, but if your mother had reproduced with another feral you'd be much stronger than you are. Your brothers don't want to chance weakening the strength of the next generation further."

I slump over, defeated. I can't argue against the madness, no matter how hard I try. "What are we going to do, Hank?" I whisper helplessly.

All of our options suck. They all involve people dying, them or us, and it's not  _fair._  All we want is to live happily together without feeling like the fucking sky might fall down tomorrow. Is that too much to ask for?

_Shakespeare's right,_ I think bitterly _. The course of true love never did run smooth._


	104. Teammate Material

**Teammate Material**

"We just have to hope for the best, Vivien," Hank finally says. "It's what we've been doing, and it's been working out just fine so far."

"Hope?  _Hope_?" I ask incredulously. " _That's_  your plan?"

Oh my God, we're gonna die.

"I happen to recall you telling me it's pointless to actually make plans, because they never work out for us anyway," Hank remarks. Then he lets out a weary sigh. "But I don't see how we can do anything else in this situation, sweetheart."

He's right, of course. I just hate being backed into a corner with no other options like this.

Jesus,  _why_  me?

The question is a constant refrain in my head. I've never hated being a feral so much as right now, knowing that I have a bunch of psychos after me- no, not  _me._ They're after my uterus, basically, and its special feral baby-making powers. They have no interest in me as a person or my own personal feelings about all this.

But to do all that they have to kill Hank first. My sweet, adorable Hank- I don't think I could  _live_  through losing him like that, let alone the horrible fate would be waiting for me afterwards. It's too much to bear.

And I  _refuse_  to live my life under anybody else's terms but my own, thanks.

I ruefully shake my head and mutter, "looks like we might end up like Romeo and Juliet after all."

"How so?"

"Because if they kill you, they're never taking me alive," I reply simply.

I'd rather be dead than be used as a baby-making machine by Sabretooth, or my disgusting brothers, over and over again. That's not a  _life_  at all.

But will Hank understand that?

"Ok," he agrees quietly.

"Ok?" I reply dubiously. Somehow I thought he'd put up more of a fight.

We're at a stop light, so he looks over at me. "I understand your feelings in the matter," he explains. "It's your body, Vivien, and they have no right to force you into becoming some sort of walking womb and pretend you're not a person. But I hope it wouldn't come to that extreme, should they kill me. I hope you would be able to escape and continue to help the X-Men, even if I'm gone. To live out your life, and hopefully find happiness in some way."

How the hell could I  _ever_  be happy again with my mate dead and gone?

The concept of spending the rest of my unnaturally long life- years that are supposed to be  _ours_ \- alone, without Hank, sounds horrifying no matter  _what_  I'm doing in the mean time. We're supposed to have adorable blue-haired babies and grow old together. We can't do that if one of us is  _dead,_  goddammit.

I shake my head and face forward again.

_And I thought our parallels to Romeo and Juliet were over when I joined the X-Men,_  I think grimly.

Boy, was I wrong.

* * *

June 29, 1975

"Are you serious?" Havok demands.

"Yes," Hank replies calmly, "we're serious. Erik plans to make his move on Friday night, along with a group of new recruits that I theorize are there to distract us from disabling his device."

It's late the next morning, and he just finished relaying our fresh intel to Charles and Havok in the Professor's cushy office. Fry Boy took the chair across from Charles at the desk, so Hank is leaning against the wall next to the windowsill I'm perched on.

It was very late (or early, depending on how you look at it) when we got back to the mansion last night, so we agreed to bring our news to these guys first thing.

And then we fell asleep all tangled up together, clinging to each other in desperation after such a hellish night. I  _wish_  wanting to beat the shit out of Raven Darkholme was the low point of the night, but there's no competing with finding out your brothers want to go all Kentucky backwoods on you, is there?

"How'd you find out about this?" Havok asks. His eyes narrow in suspicion.

Hank shuffles his feet and glances at me with a guilty expression. Something tells me he's seconds away from blurting out, _"it was_ her  _idea!"_

I roll my eyes. "Hank and I went out on the town last night," I reply, "to Club X. Raven Darkholme popped into the grounds for a minute to let us know Magneto's been going there-"

Charles visibly winces, clearly hurt by the fact that his sister visited the mansion without bothering to make an effort to see him. I feel a little sorry for him, yeah, but not that much. He should have realized what a shit bag she is a  _long_  time ago.

"-And we were able to ask around and find out pretty easily," I continue. "Magneto's not keeping the timing a secret. He  _wants_  an audience."

"So let me get this straight," Havok says through gritted teeth. "You went to a place you  _knew_  Mags has been hanging out, without telling anyone here."

Hank lets out an audible, long-suffering sigh.

"Pretty much," I agree unapologetically.

Havok grips the armrests of his chair so tightly his knuckles turn white. I watch a blood vessel in his temple start to pulsate and wonder if he's about to have a fit or something.

Sure enough-

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snaps. "Do you have any idea what could have  _happened_ -?"

"No, of course not," I retort sarcastically. "I'm blissfully unaware that I have a big fat target on my back. I walked around the whole time just  _hoping_  trouble would find me. Damned if it didn't, though. Maybe next time I should try harder."

His mouth opens, ready to make some sort of angry reply-

"What Vivien is trying to say," Hank interjects, giving me a reproachful look, "is that we were aware of the risk and decided that it was worth taking a chance, especially if only two of us went. We were careful, Alex."

"Would it have killed you to let us know, though?"

Hank gives me a helpless look.

"Sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission," I offer haughtily.

Alright, I know that wasn't really helpful. But Havok deserves it for being such a control freak.

"Yeah, but you're not asking for either," he counters.

I grin impudently. "Not really, no," I concede. "But would you really have let us go?"

"Probably not," he admits reluctantly, after a long moment.

_See?_  I fucking knew it.

My vindication must show in my expression because he quickly adds, "but for good reason. It was way too risky for you guys to do that."

"I'm not above taking some risks if it means nailing Magneto," I reply, shrugging.

Havok looks about ready to blow a gasket. He glowers at us both, his gaze shifting back and forth like he's deciding who he's more angry at- me and my lack of remorse, or Hank for going along with my plan in the first place.

I give my mate a grim,  _"I-told-you-so"_  kind of look. This is the sort of shit I didn't want to deal with because of joining a team in the fucking first place.

"And you're ok with putting Beast in unnecessary danger too, Vixen?" Havok presses.

Now that was over the fucking line.

I don't give a shit that Havok doesn't know about the _killing Hank_  part of the Brotherhood's plan- we didn't see the need to tell him  _those_  gory details- but the question still pisses me off to no end. The douche bag already knows the fucking answer, and he's a complete  _asshole_  for asking.

Havok's eyes almost pop out of his head in surprise at the sight of my bared fangs and the snarl that comes out of my throat.

"Like  _hell_  I am," I growl. "You-"

"Vivien," Hank interjects.

His expression is calm when I turn to glare at him, despite the sharpness in his tone just now. A moment of silent communication passes between us.

_Fine. I can take a hint,_  I think, taking note of the hidden pleading in his eyes.  _I think I'd prefer to sit this bitch fest out, anyway._

"I'm hungry," I announce abruptly, hopping off the windowsill. "Excuse me."

Hank catches my hand as I pass by, giving a gentle squeeze. I can sense his relief when I return the pressure. "I'll meet you in the kitchen," he murmurs.

I nod and go to leave-

But not before turning back and giving him a quick kiss.

Because who knows how many more chances I'll have?

Hank speaks as soon as I shut the door. His quiet voice still carries through the wood, catching my attention before I can walk away.

"For the record, I volunteered to go with her last night," he tells the others. "Even though she didn't particularly want me to come. Vivien still prefers to operate by herself, you know."

Havok grunts irritably. "Great teammate material," he mutters loudly.

"She isn't used to it yet," Hank explains defensively. "She's used to relying only on herself."

Oh, my sweet Hank. Always trying to protect me, even when I don't deserve it.

"You're telling me she didn't even depend on her brothers, before?"

Sure didn't, dude. My brothers have always been so hotheaded that I couldn't rely on them for anything. I was the responsible one, the dependable one of the three of us.

Not that that's saying much or anything.

But now look at the mess we've come to.

I clench my teeth and walk away, headed to the kitchen like I promised. I don't want to listen to what I'm sure is coming.

* * *

"Hi, Vivien."

The cheerful voice behind me breaks into my Dorito-munching reverie. "Huh?" I ask absently, glancing over my shoulder. "Oh. Hi, Jean."

She comes closer to the kitchen stool I'm currently sitting on. "How are you doing today?"

Now  _there's_  a can of worms she shouldn't come within a hundred miles of.

Let's see- how  _am_  I doing, knowing my psycho brothers want to kill my mate and turn me into an incestuous baby-making machine? And that's just my personal issue, completely disregarding Magneto's crazy-ass plan next Friday.

Happy fucking Fourth of July, everybody.

My laugh has a hint of hysteria to it. "I'm  _super_ ," I reply ironically. "You?"

Jean frowns- even if she  _weren't_  a telepath, my disquiet is easy to notice right now.

In order to head off the inevitable questions I quickly hold out my bag of chips. "Want some Doritos? They're delicious  _and_  nutritious."

The redheaded girl grimaces in disgust. "That stuff is terrible for you, you know," she scolds.

Yeah, well- the way things are looking, I'm not going to have a chance to grow old enough to worry about high cholesterol and shit.

If that thought isn't depressing enough, Jean's words spark another memory in my mind. The whole situation we're facing is making me morbidly nostalgic.

I chuckle sadly. "You sound like Wanda- Scarlet Witch, I mean," I mutter. "She didn't approve of my food choices, either. You actually- you remind me of her in some ways."

Jean looks surprised, but thankfully not offended by the comparison to a Brotherhood member the way the other X-Men would. That's actually one of the reasons I like her, how open-minded she is.

"Do you miss her?" she asks kindly.

I shrug uncomfortably and look away to hide my pained expression. "Her and Peter- they were the first friends I've ever really had," I admit.

Jean is silent for a moment before she gives me this huge smile that just  _screams_  sincerity. "But not your last," she says brightly.

I chuckle at that. "No, I guess not," I agree. "Though I honestly don't see my appeal. I speak sarcasm like a second language and I'm not exactly what you'd call  _friendly._  Not like you, Jean. I'm afraid I might be a lost cause for you."

It's her turn to laugh. "I hate to break it to you, but you're a lot nicer than you think you are," she tells me. And then suddenly her expression becomes serious. "I'm so glad you're here. I know sometimes you don't feel like it, but- you really do belong here, Vivien. I promise. And I'm glad you're on my team now."

A warm feeling spreads through me, making it hard to speak. "Thanks," I murmur, thinking of the conversation I just had with Havok upstairs. At least  _one_  person is happy I'm on their team. "That- that means a lot."

I'm not sure if I _real_ _ly_ believe I belong here, but I do know one thing-

In Jean Grey, I've found myself a true friend.


	105. The Expiration Date

**The Expiration Date**

If you want proof that God is one twisted motherfucker, look no further than the way our perception of time works. When you want it to speed up time slows to a snail's pace, but when you would give  _anything_  for a moment to last forever it slips away like water through your fingers.

That's how the next week feels. Like I blinked and it's gone already.

For  _years_  I lived my life in a (usually self-induced) haze, wanting to be numb to what I was going through at the time. I wished and hoped for things to get better for my brothers and I, to fast forward until we got to a point where all three of us were happy and safe again. Instead time dragged on unbearably, an inescapable, sluggish flow.

But then I met Hank.

With him I discovered just how quickly time can slip away when you're happy. The blissful hours we stole together passed like mere seconds until we had to leave each other again. Even the past month or so, since I joined the X-Men, has flown by like no time at all.

And now this happiness has an expiration date.

Just when I want time to stand still, it decides to go all turbo speed on me. Every hour, every minute- I want to hold on to them, to squeeze the joy out of every moment I might have left with Hank. Only so much might be left to us.

No matter how optimistic we try to be, I can't help thinking that these might be the last few days of his life- and by extension, mine as well. He's going to be a on everyone's hit list on Friday, and if the Brotherhood takes him out I would never be able to live with myself afterwards.

Both of us are haunted by a heavy sense of foreboding, though neither of us says anything outright.

I'm trying to keep it locked down, but I know he hears the hint of hysteria when I laugh as I try to hold back frustrated tears. At night we cling to each other like barnacles, even in our sleep. Sometimes I catch Hank staring at me, like he's trying to memorize every last detail of my face.

But maybe I only notice because I'm doing the same thing.

Neither of us speaks of our fears aloud because there's nothing we can really say except bullshit false reassurances. How can we tell each other that everything will be alright when we don't really know? Neither of us is much good at lying, and especially not to each other.

Like Hank said- all we have is hope.

* * *

July 3, 1975

It's Thursday night, while I'm getting ready for bed, when I connect the dots between the signs.

Yesterday I saw some spotting, which just made me think that Hank went a little too rough the night before (though it certainly didn't  _feel_  too rough at the time). But that doesn't make sense, because this started in the afternoon- too long afterwards to be connected.

I would easily dismiss it, except then I start thinking about how for the past couple days my breasts have been hurting, and I've been having some cramps.

All the signs would point to that time of the month for a regular female, but I'm not an ordinary woman that way. This isn't normal for me by any stretch. Instead of a  _monthly visitor,_  feral females have a heat cycle that happens three times a year, like clockwork, once we hit puberty.

And my next cycle isn't due until next month.

So what gives?

The oddness of it all is enough to make me wonder... could I be  _pregnant_?

_No way. It can't be, right?_ Right?

The thought makes me sink to the bathroom floor in shock.

I mean, sure we haven't been using protection, but it's almost  _impossible_  for feral females to conceive when they're not in heat. It's part of the reason our population numbers are always in the toilet, along with all the other stuff.

Almost  _impossible,_  a voice inside of me says.  _And you and Hank have a way of making impossible things_  possible, _don't you? And it's not like you've been careful, either._

Holy shit.

My hands drift to my stomach as I chew this new development over.

_Pregnant._  Me?

My first emotion is pants-shitting fear, absolute  _terror_  for the new life that could be taking root inside me right this very minute. Talk about horrible timing, Jesus. We're right on the brink of a battle for humanity here, with the future completely uncertain. I'm scared of what could happen to me and Hank, let alone a baby.

A baby.

Our baby-  _Hank's_  baby. A piece of him inside me that could live on, even if the worst happens and the Brotherhood and Sabretooth manage to off him tomorrow night.

Oh Jesus, I don't even want to  _think_  about that happening. I've been doing my damnedest to ignore the horrible possibilities all week. With everything that's going on I  _really_  didn't need this added development on my plate.

To be honest, I'm too afraid to allow myself even a moment to feel happy about the idea of being a mother. No matter  _how_  much I've always wanted a baby of my own.

It would be better if I  _wasn't_  pregnant right now, with the upcoming showdown with the Brotherhood. I know that. I don't need the added distraction while facing my brothers and Magneto. Even thinking about this right now seems like a waste of anxiety, considering I've only got the slightest of reasons to believe I'm pregnant, anyway.

But still... a little piece of me can't help hoping-

A knock sounds at the door, startling me from my reverie.

"Darling?" Hank asks through the wood. "You've been in there a while. Are you alright?"

I scramble to my feet. "I'm fine," I reply, quickly turning on the sink so I can wash my face.

"May I come in?"

"Sure."

Hank quietly enters the bathroom.

Though I don't glance over I can sense his gaze on my face, the desperate desire to look at me while he's still able to- even if I'm doing something as mundane as getting ready for bed. He makes no move towards me, seemingly content to just be in the same room while he has the chance.

How much longer do we have with each other? Time is slipping away from us way too fast.

"See something you like?" I pointedly ask after I finish, shimmying my shoulders slightly. Not because I mind his staring or anything- I just  _usually_  would tease him for being a weirdo like this. I'm just reaching for any sense of normalcy I can get under the circumstances.

There's more than a hint of sadness in his smile. "Yes," Hank replies softly. "Very much."

"And what's that?"

"My beautiful wife," he tells me, with unmistakable sincerity.

Even though I'm secretly flattered I roll my eyes, grinning. "You cheeseball," I accuse.

I turn and close the distance between us. Hank's arms are open and waiting before I even reach him. Like we're magnets, inevitably drawn together.

"And I wouldn't have you any other way," I whisper, before pulling him down for an ardent kiss. Because I might only have one night left with the love of my life, and I know  _exactly_  how I want to spend it.

Hank is obviously thinking along the same lines as I am, because he returns the gesture- and then some. His hands slip down to my thighs so I can wrap my legs around him, and when I brace myself he lifts me up easily and carries me to our bed.

Tonight, more than ever before, we will be each other's escape.

* * *

It's as we bask in our afterglow, a tangle of naked limbs and musky sheets, that I start to wonder if I should tell Hank about my possible pregnancy.

On one hand, I'm not sure it would be a good idea to add yet another burden for him to worry about going into tomorrow. But then at the same time I can't help thinking that the possibility of a child might  _motivate_  him to stay alive even more. There will be no dramatic sacrifices on my watch, thanks. Our baby is going to have two parents if I have  _anything_  to say about it.

And besides- I suck at keeping secrets from Hank, anyway.

"Hank?" I whisper. I lift my head off his chest and peer at his face in the dark.

"Hmm?" Hank murmurs, continuing to absently play with my hair.

"I have to tell you something."

He stiffens slightly, reacting to the nerves I couldn't keep out of my voice. "What is it, sweetheart?"

Here goes-

"I think..." I take a deep breath. "I think I might be pregnant."

Then I hold my breath while he processes the news, watching the different emotions play across his face like a back lit projector. First complete shock, then joy, anxiety, and outright fear pass over his features in the dark.

I kinda wondered if Hank would ever want kids- and if he did, how soon he would want to start having them. It's not a conversation we ever got around to having, considering how impossible a future between us has been for so much of our relationship.

But now I have the answer to that question, as his expression twists into a poignant hopefulness that pierces me right through the heart. Even if the timing for starting a family is horrible right now, he still wants one.

"A-are you sure?" he sputters.

I shake my head. "No, I'm not sure," I admit.

Unmistakable disappointment flashes across his face for just a moment, before he composes himself once more. Hank turns on his side to face me. "What makes you think you could be, then?" he asks calmly, logically.

"Little things," I reply. "Even though it's not the right time for it I'm cramping a little, my boobs are hurting, I had some spotting yesterday and this morning... I don't know, Hank."

My list of reasons sound even more pitiful when spoken aloud. I suddenly feel really bad about making such a big deal out it, getting his hopes up for probably no justification at all.

"Maybe it's just wishful thinking," I mutter, half to myself.

Hank leans in and inhales deeply, trailing his nose from my ear down to my shoulder in an attempt to detect a change in my scent. "It's faint, but there might be something," he tells me. "Of course, that may be wishful thinking on my part, too."

I can see it in his eyes, no matter how much he's trying to hide it. If the worst happens tomorrow night, he would want me to have a piece of himself to live on in the aftermath. An insurance, in a way, that I would have a reason to keep going.

He coughs. "Do you want me to give you a blood test?"

"No," I reply quickly. "At least, not until Saturday. Maybe Sunday."

I know for a fact if we find out I'm pregnant he's going to try to make me stay behind, and  _fuck_  that.

"Vivien-"

I shake my head. "If- if something happens to you, I don't want you to go out with that on your conscience," I explain. Finally giving voice to the fear that's been dogging us all week long. There's a difference- however slight- between the  _possibility_  of a child and him dying  _knowing_  he's leaving me alone with one. "We'll find out once we're through this."

Hank looks like he still wants to argue, but seems to decide tonight is not a night to spend arguing. A wise move. "Ok."

Then he kisses and nuzzles his way down my front, stopping at my stomach. And for a while he just lays there with his head against my skin while I stroke his hair.

_If there's a kid in there, he's going to meet it,_  I swear to myself in that moment. _That's a fucking_  promise.

* * *

As I startle awake from a nightmare I'm immediately aware of the empty space in bed next to me. Where the hell is Hank? The last thing I remember is snuggling up next to him after another round of sexy times and falling asleep.

Thankfully it takes only a moment for me to realize that he's sitting at his desk. I can hear a pen scratching on paper, which explains what he's doing there. I wonder what could be so important he felt the need to write it at this ridiculous hour?

Oh, I have a bad feeling about this.

I watch through my eyelashes, feigning sleep, as he places a piece of paper in an envelope and puts it under a book on his desk. Then he slides back into bed, pulling me close and kissing my forehead before he falls back asleep.

My curiosity eats away at me, thinking about the contents of that envelope. Who's it meant for? What's it say?

A sense of dread hangs over every breath until I can't take it anymore. As soon as Hank's sleeping deeply I carefully extricate myself from his embrace and make a beeline for the desk.

_"Vivien,"_  the envelope reads.

It's for me.

It's gotta be some sort of last letter for me to have just in case the worst should happen tomorrow.

I'm torn between being touched for his thoughtfulness and wanting to crumple the whole damn thing into a ball and throwing it at Hank's stupid head. We don't  _need_  that sort of fatalism, dammit.

It's tempting-  _so_  tempting- to take the letter out and read it, but I don't.

Instead I place it back under the book and get back in bed. When I scoot into Hank's arms he buries his nose in my hair and lets out a little sigh of contentment in his sleep.

_Oh, my Hank. You can show me what that letter says on Saturday morning._  After _we make it through this._

For me there aren't any alternatives.


	106. And So It Begins

**And So It Begins**

July 4, 1975

_Happy birthday, America,_  I think when I wake up the next morning.

And then I snuggle up to Hank.

Since it's a holiday I have no classes to teach, so we spend most of the morning just laying in bed together, soaking up each other's presence while we still can.

Around lunch time we finally rouse ourselves enough to go have a picnic on the grounds. It's almost obnoxiously bright and cheery outside, a perfect day. No one bothers us as Hank lays there with his head in my lap while I read to him and run my claws through his hair. He's staring at me again, but this time I don't have it in me to tease him about it.

The expiration date on all of this is looming so close my sense of humor has pulled a complete disappearing act.

We stay outside until twilight falls, trying to squeeze every last second of peace and relaxation out of the day that we can.

It feels like no time at all before Charles is calling us all down to the basement for our final briefing before we leave. Hank stands next to me, of course, so close that our hands surreptitiously brush against each other without anyone noticing.

Charles gravely surveys us once we're all in uniform and ready to go.

"I won't deceive you in this," he says sincerely. "This will be the most difficult, dangerous task I've ever asked of you, and we cannot allow ourselves to fail. Too much is at stake. We cannot allow Erik to succeed, or else millions of people will die-"

"No pressure," Angel murmurs, and I have to fight back a snort of laughter.

_Took the words right out of my mouth, Fancy Pants._

"-He's spent over a year planning this, so we have to know he won't let go of it easily. There will be some unfamiliar faces out there tonight, mercenary mutants who make a life out of killing and brutality. I beg of you to remember your training, and make it home safely," Charles concludes. "Good luck."

The other X-Men nod, their expressions grim and intent.

God, most of them are just  _kids._  Humanity's best defense against the Brotherhood still has to worry about finals and acne, for Christ's sake.

But they've beat Magneto before, and I know they can do it again.

Everyone starts to make their way to the jet- everyone except for Hank, that is. He stays back to have a private word with the Professor and give him that damnable last letter for safekeeping, I'm sure.

The next time I see that envelope I want me and Hank to tear it up into confetti, together.

I follow the other X-Men out into the hangar where Hank's fancy jet plane, the Blackbird he's so proud of, sits waiting for takeoff.

_Wow._

I immediately understand his pride over this thing. Its sleek black frame, complete with two massive jet engines, practically  _screams_  speed and stealth.

My awe only grows when I get inside. I absently take a seat next to Cyclops while I look around and take it all in.

The back end of the jet has rows of surveillance monitors along one wall and a small infirmary as well. Towards the front, directly behind the cockpit area, the walls are lined with jump seats. They frame the bomb bay doors in the center. The sheer amount of work that went into the design is astonishing, with every inch of the interior being utilitarian in some way.

Hank enters the Blackbird then, having finished his talk with Charles. "What do you think?" he asks as he kneels down and starts to buckle me into the harness.

"I think it's amazing, of course," I reply honestly. " _You're_  amazing. God, I hope our kids have your brains."

Yeah, I said  _kids._  As in, more than one.

Hank's smile is rather wistful- just like I'm sure mine is- as he laughs and flushes just a little bit. "And your musical talent," he adds, kissing me gently. "I love you, Vivien."

"I love you too, Hank."

* * *

Hank's fancy supersonic jet makes the trip to the City from Westchester in less than twenty minutes. Once there he does a fly-by of Liberty Island so he and Havok can get a lay of the land.

"Looks like they're gathering at the base of the statue," Havok comments from the copilot's chair. "Blocking the entrance of course."

"How many?" Cannonball asks. He's sitting in the seat behind Havok.

"About thirty."

Well that sucks. Even if all of those people aren't combatants, we're still looking at numbers a lot greater than the eight we have. Those are some long odds.

I think quickly, considering the options.

"Hey, can this thing hover?" I call out.

"Yes," Hank replies proudly, though I can imagine he feels a little peeved that I called his precious plane a "thing."

"I bet they put the machine in the torch, and that's why they're guarding the entrance to the stairs," I reason. "Could you get us close enough for Havok or Cyclops to destroy it with their laser beams from the plane?"

"They're plasma blasts," Cyclops chimes in, slightly miffed.

"Whatever." Jesus, what a time to argue about semantics here.

"The idea has merit, but we can't know if the Brotherhood rigged it with explosives as insurance against tampering like that," Hank says after a moment's thought.

Alright, Plan B then.

"Then how about Angel-"

Suddenly the plane noticeably wobbles. From my vantage point I can see Hank's shoulders strain as he fights the controls, trying to keep us steady. But it's no use- the Blackbird starts to careen drunkenly through the air, causing yelps of surprise from Storm and Jean.

"Beast?"

"It's Magneto," Hank explains tersely. I'm assuming the jet has a cloaking device, but that doesn't matter when you're up against a guy who can sense metal. "Looks like he noticed us."

"Everybody get ready to bail out," Havok orders. "He wants us to bring the fight to him, we'll do it."

Yikes. I don't like coming at this on Magneto's terms, but it looks like we don't have a choice.

"Storm, lay down some cover."

A thick layer of fog blooms in front of the windshield, covering the whole island and blocking out the lights of the City beyond.

"Beast, you need to find that device and disable it as fast as you can," Havok says. "The rest of us will cover you."

Yeah, about that- no way in  _hell_  am I letting Hank wander off on his own. Not with three feral males hanging around hoping to make him go the way of the dinosaur.

Hank seems to expect as much, because he's not at all surprised when I stay by his side after we finally land and all of us disembark. The rest of the X-Men immediately fan out in preparation to meet the Brotherhood and their new buddies, but not me.

I walk a few steps ahead of him and glance back over my shoulder expectantly. "Ready?" I prompt, grinning.

He hesitates.

Meanwhile ahead of us the swirling mist begins to clear just a bit, making Cyclops and Havok's laser beams- excuse me,  _plasma blasts_ \- visible, along with Storm's lightning.

The battle has begun. We don't exactly have time to stand here while Hank comes to the obvious conclusion that I'm coming too, whether he likes it or not.

"Come on, Hank," I tell him impatiently. "You know you're going to need me."

He cringes, but he knows I'm right. He sighs and steps closer to me. "Lead the way, sweetheart."

Since the entrance is where all the action's happening I know we're going to be a little oblique in making our way inside. I lead Hank along the island's perimeter, using the darkness as a cover as we scout out the best route to the top.

On the way we encounter a couple sentries, but I'm able to knock them out from a distance with my knives. The transponders in the handles work perfectly each time when I call them back- another fantastic invention by my favorite blue fur ball.

"Is there a back entrance?" Hank murmurs.

"Doesn't look like it," I reply, peering at the base. "But that's ok. Come on."

I sprint across the grass and leap up to the first level of Lady Liberty's pedestal. At the apex of my jump I grab onto the concrete with my hands and then easily swing my legs up to crouch on top, turning it into one fluid motion.

Hank chooses to climb rather than jump.

_Hmm. I'd like to see him do that shirtless,_ I muse _. Wait- the mission. Right._

Hugging the wall, we move quickly to the front where the entrance is once more. Our vantage point from there gives us a full view of the fighting going on below us without attracting much attention.

Even being so vastly outnumbered, the X-Men are holding their own.

Havok and Cyclops are cutting through wide tracts of the Brotherhood's cronies with their laser beams. Angel and Cannonball are tag-teaming Magneto, and Jean is going one-on-one against Wanda.

_That_  particular battle has already carved out huge pieces of the island's lawn, a landscaper's worst nightmare. Jean is hurling bolts of telekinetic energy while Wanda uses her hexes to avoid them. Unfortunately (for them), her defense actually ends up taking out some of her own teammates with the deflections.

As we watch, Wanda gathers up a momentous effort to redirect a blast straight back at Jean. The redheaded girl brushes it aside like a bothersome fly.

A bothersome fly that takes out a decent-sized chunk of the statue's base when it hits it.

I let out a low whistle. "Glad I'm on her side now," I say.

"I'm sure she feels the same way about you," Hank replies.

Meanwhile, Storm has been scattering mutants left and right with her lightning bolts. It causes the Brotherhood minions to flee in terror.

One manages to dodge the bursts and get under Storm's guard. I recognize this particular suicidal soul almost immediately.

_Holy shit, it's Lucia._

The feral female that chatted up Hank at Club X and told him the date and time of this little shindig- apparently she felt the need to join in on the anti-humanity party here.

She slashes at Storm with her claws, but the weather-manipulating mutant easily recovers to make a good block and manages to then grab Lucia's head and bring it forward in order to slam her knee into the feral's forehead.

"I'd like to think you taught her that," Hank tells me, pointing at Storm. "She's definitely not flat-footed now, is she?"

"Well done, Storm," I murmur proudly. "You're a lady and a scholar."

He thinks for a moment. " _The Catcher in the Rye_?" he guesses. "Revised for the fairer sex, of course."

I grin. "God, I love you," I say, impulsively standing on tiptoe to kiss him. "Now come on, baby. We've got a city to save."

We're a little more cautious as we press forward now. While I caught sight of Peter toying with the laser boys and Mastermind has already been knocked out cold (which I can't help smiling over), I haven't seen my brothers out here. Not knowing where they are- or Sabretooth, for that matter- makes me uneasy.

There are two mutants guarding the entrance, but we catch them by surprise from our position on the high ground of the pedestal's next level. I take out one and Hank the other with flying tackles from above. After that it's easy to slip inside the museum.

I have a growing feeling of foreboding as we make our way past the exhibits to the stairs that lead up to the torch. This is  _too_  easy. Someone should have tried to stop us by now-

And then James jumps down from out of nowhere, his clawed hands stretched out and reaching straight for me.


	107. Principles Be Damned

**Principles Be Damned**

_Oh shit-_

Just a fraction of a second before my brother can grab me, Hank snatches me around the waist and and springs several feet away. He's so fast I think he started moving before James did, like he was prodded by some sort of protective instinct to remove me from harm's way.

James snarls as his surprise attack comes to nothing. His sloppy landing- which is more like a face-first fall on the floor- pisses him off even more. He's spitting like the little bitch he is as he clambers to his feet.

Before any of us can make our next move, Sabretooth suddenly pops out from behind a display like a horror movie villain.

_Jesus Christ, he could give Leather Face a run for his money._

I immediately hook my arm in Hank's and use his body weight as a pivot point to swing around and kick the bastard in the face as hard as I can. I release my grip on Hank's arm and twist to land behind him in a slight crouch. Sabretooth stumbles backwards from the blow, but recovers his balance without falling.

And now my mate and I stand back-to-back, up against two snarling ferals who want to destroy us.

I eye Sabretooth carefully as I quickly run through our options. The fucker's well over a foot taller than me and almost two hundred pounds heavier than I am, along with being a psycho killer to boot. It hurts my pride, but I know I can't take him on my own.

But then there's no chance in hell that I'm going to let Hank try to fight him solo, either. I can't risk him like that.

Back when I was still with the Brotherhood we promised each other that we would separate ourselves from our alter-egos while not on missions. Vivien and Hank were never enemies, though for a while Beast and Vixen were. We made a point of keeping that promise, and I think that's part of why we were able to make our relationship work against all the odds.

Now that I'm with the X-Men Havok has been a fucking broken record about keeping things separate between us all over again. We're just teammates, not mates or husband and wife. Blah blah blah.

I say  _fuck_  that shit.

Beast or Hank, it doesn't matter  _what_  you call him. The big blue ball of fur at my back is the most important person on the planet to me, and I'll protect him in any way I can.

Hank shifts his weight, placing his hand-foot between my legs. I can tell he's trying to position himself so we each can slide around and turn without showing an unprotected back to either of our opponents. He wants me to face my brother while he takes on Sabretooth.

_Sorry, baby,_  not _going to happen._

I could beat James in a fair fight, sure- but not as quickly as Hank can. I also know for a fact that Sabretooth is going to want to keep me alive for his nasty schemes, so I might as well use that to my advantage. I'm also bound to be a lot faster than he is, given the difference in our sizes.

It's better if I keep the crazy bastard occupied while Hank quickly neutralizes James. Then we can join forces on taking out the ginormous psychopath who's currently looking at me like a savory side of beef. Gross.

Hank now becomes more insistent. He places his hand on my waist and gives a gentle nudge, trying to telegraph his intention.

I ignore him and bare my fangs at Sabretooth, who smirks and lasciviously licks his lips as he gives me an obvious up-and-down.

_Now that's just disgusting._

"Vivien-" Hank urges under his breath.

"Do you trust me?" I whisper through my teeth. A low growl starts in the back of my throat, directed at the soulless creature in front of me.

"Yes," my mate reluctantly replies. Yeah, I know he's not going to like this, but it's for his own safety.

"Good."

And then I launch myself at the hulking feral male.

I make a baseball slide towards Sabretooth and stab him in the back of the knee as I pass by. His leg buckles as I regain my feet and get him again in the kidney.

In the edge of my peripheral vision, as I dart in and out of Sabretooth's range, I'm vaguely aware of Hank using one of his opposable feet to grab James' leg and fling him across the room. The look on my brother's face is absolutely  _priceless._

Looks like he underestimated me, thinking this would be an easy fight for them. James probably thought Sabretooth would be able to easily subdue me, so they could then finish off Hank together. Boy was he wrong.

For the first time in a very,  _very_  long time, I let loose. I don't hold  _anything_  back as I use my knives to inflict heavily bleeding wounds to Sabretooth, stabbing and slashing and moving so fast he can't manage to get his hands on me.

He makes a low lunge at me, forcing me to flip out of his reach. As I land I realize that my dodge put Sabretooth at Hank's back, much too close for comfort. As if that isn't enough, Hank's also got my brother flying at him at the same time.

_Oh shit-_

Hank ducks and rolls forward, causing James to sail well over his head.

My relief that he's out of danger only lasts about a nanosecond before I see that now our enemies are between us, leaving us cut us off from each other.

James regains his feet, looking pleased as punch about this new development. Beyond him I see Hank freeze, his eyes fearful and calculating.

Sabretooth gives me a lascivious, evil grin that makes my skin crawl. "You're one tough little frail," he grumbles. Before our eyes the wounds I managed to inflict on him heal right up. Well that's just  _super,_  goddammit. "I like that."

I sneer at him. "I don't give a shit what you like, asshole," I retort.

The bastards just laughs. "Oh, but you will, kitten," he replies, with a suggestive undertone. "Once we kill the fur ball-"

I wave my hand dismissively. "I've heard all about this stupid plan. Did it ever occur to you that Fox and Jackal were just using you to kill my mate for  _them_?" I snap. "You think they'd be just fine letting you have two females, just because you're so big and bad?"

"Of course not," the big feral says smugly. "I ain't stupid, frail. I've been planning on doing this anyway, but might as well get it over with. Maybe you'd like to watch, huh?"

And before any of us can react, before I can even move a muscle, Sabretooth reaches around, grabs my brother by the neck, and then rips his throat out with one hand.

No- oh God, no.

_No._

That's the only word that comes to mind as I watch, frozen in horror, as my brother clutches at the gaping hole where his throat used to be. A hopeless denial that my own eyes are lying to me, that I'm not watching my eldest brother bleed out right in front of me.

James staggers around to face me and collapses to the floor.

The surprise in his gaze quickly fades, draining away right along with his blood.

For a moment all the shit that's transpired over the past year and change doesn't matter anymore.  _None_  of it. That's still my brother laying right there, bleeding out.

I can't control the agonized wail that escapes my mouth as the life starts to dwindle away from his eyes.

"Just the pipsqueak and the fur ball to go now," Sabretooth boasts. He sounds practically  _giddy_  at the thought of two more murders to commit, the sick bastard.

In this moment I feel like I'll never be able to see anything but James laying there like this ever again. Even if I manage to tear my gaze away, I'm afraid the image of his blood spreading out in a bigger and bigger pool around him is burned into my retinas forever now.

I vaguely sense Hank coming towards me- even in this darkest moment my mate's presence is still a beacon to me. My knees feel like like they're about to give out, but he's coming to support me and maybe if he can just hold me for a second I can pull myself together-

Sabretooth launches himself at my mate with a triumphant snarl.

Hank tries to dodge, but he's so focused on me that his reaction is a second too late. The bigger feral tackles him, causing his head to slam against the floor. Sabretooth growls in his face, fangs bared, and tries to pull the same maneuver he just used against James. Thank God Hank is able to grab his wrist to prevent his own throat getting ripped out.

I see him trying desperately to work his legs free, but Sabretooth leans down and attempts to tear Hank's jugular out with his teeth-

My hand moves without conscious thought. My knife is whistling through the air before I have time to think about the X-Men's morals and stupid shit like that. There's only an overwhelming impulse to protect my mate above everything else.

The knife lands in the side of Sabretooth's head, sinking through his skull like butter.

Hank scrambles out from underneath his body when the psycho slumps over, stone dead.

I have no idea what his expression looks like as I summon my knife back to me- I'm just too scared to meet his eyes right now. To see the disappointment  _I_  put there.

After all my talk of turning over a new leaf and not killing people anymore I sure did an about face in a hurry, didn't I? So much for not being that person anymore. Maybe I can't get rid of that killer instinct, no matter how much I want otherwise. My new ideals came crashing down like a house of cards at the thought of losing the love of my life.

But what the fuck was I supposed to do?  _Let_  my mate be murdered right in front of me?

Just like my brother...

I'm shaking right now, and I don't think I can stop. Too many emotions rolling around inside me, I guess.

"Nice throw," Hank offers. "Thank you, for saving me."

His calm tone makes me brave enough to chance a look at his face.

I see nothing but understanding in his expression, and I think that's the moment we both realize that if the situation were reversed, he would do the same for me. Following his heart, principles and X-Geeks be damned.

I don't trust my voice, so I merely nod.

Hank glances back at Sabretooth when he reaches me. "Do you think he's really dead?"

It's a good question, considering how fast the feral healed from all the other wounds I gave him. But still-

"I don't care if he is," I hiss. "He was trying to kill you, and he- my brother-"

I choke on the words.

Hank immediately pulls me into his arms, trying to soothe me.

"Is he really-?" I whisper, gesturing towards James. I can't bear to look at him, so I keep my face buried in my mate's chest. "Can you do something?"

He takes a deep breath and steps away from me to go kneel by my brother's body, surrounded by a congealing pool of blood.

Hopeless. It's hopeless.

Deep down I already know it is, but some childish piece of me still hasn't let go of the fact that there's no such thing as fairy tale endings and last minute redemptions. I'm an idiot, I know.

Hank reaches out and closes my brother's eyes with a gentleness that pierces me right through. I know it's not for James' sake- it's for  _mine._  Is he picturing  _my_  eyes looking so blank and glassy like that?

"I'm sorry, Vivien," Hank murmurs. "He's gone."

My heart plummets right out of my chest- it probably ends up somewhere in China.

James is dead. My big brother is dead.

Is this really happening? It can't be, it  _can't-_

_Get it together, McCoy. You've got a job to do. No time to fall apart now._

I take a deep breath, nod, and force down the rising tide of grief threatening to overwhelm me. "We still have a job to do," I announce quietly. "We better head out, just in case tall, dark and scary decides to resurrect himself."

Hank seems like he wants to say something, but is at a loss for words.

"Ok," he agrees helplessly. "Let's go."


	108. Is This How It Ends?

**Is This How It Ends?**

We meet no resistance as we carefully climb Lady Liberty's stairs. I take the lead over Hank's objections because let's face it- I'm  _much_  better at sneaking around than he is.

I throw up a hand in warning before we come in sight of the observation deck, motioning for Hank to be still. Both of us listen with all our might, but we hear nothing.

Just to be safe I gesture for him to remain a few steps below while I go up to check it out first.

He glares at me- yeah, didn't think he'd like  _that_ \- but I stare him down until he sighs in exasperation and nods, giving me the go ahead.

With my knives at the ready I finish the ascent into the crown alone, moving so quietly I can barely hear my own footsteps.

One of the panes of glass closest to Lady Liberty's raised arm is broken, but otherwise there's no clear signs of disturbance inside.

Out on the torch it's a different story.

Looks like I was right about the machine being in the torch, though it's not like I get any real satisfaction about that. I can see Myles out there, stripping away the metal siding of the flame pieces with his claws to expose the device. He's almost done, so it's not like we can come at it from inside.

Well shit.

I quickly return to Hank just in case he's about to have an anxiety attack or something from me being out of his sight for too long.

Sure enough, he looks like he's on the verge of a brain aneurysm when I come back and give him the go-ahead to follow me.

I stop him at the head of the stairs. "Looks like it  _is_  in the torch," I explain in a whisper, pointing to the broken window. "I caught sight of Myles, but I'm not sure if he's alone out there. He's been stripping of the flame part of the torch itself, so the machine's exposed now. We won't be able to come at it from inside."

"Not much room for maneuvering," Hank notes grimly. "Or places to hide."

"So what do we do?"

"I don't particularly like the idea of storming the castle," he muses. He looks like he's got another idea of something that would work better but doesn't want to bring it up. I can guess what  _that_  is.

"How about... how about I go talk to Myles?" I offer hesitantly. I half-hope Hank says it's a bad idea, considering that the last time I saw Myles I ended up losing a couple internal organs and then James just died in front of me and all. The recent history with my brothers has all been so fucking horrible, but I don't see any other choices. "Distract him so you can get into position? Then you can jump him."

Hank's expression is reluctant. I can imagine how much he hates the thought of letting me go speak to my crazy little brother by myself, but he's smart enough to know there aren't any other options. "Are you sure you're ok with that?"

I grin ruefully. "Are  _you_?" I retort, though I know the answer already.

"Not really," he admits. "But..."

I nod. "I'm pretty sure I can handle him," I say. Because if I say it with enough assurance I might even believe it  _myself._

Hank nods in agreement, though I can tell he still has misgivings about all this.

Well, likewise.

With one last kiss I head out onto the statue's arm. I move quickly across the narrow passage, trying to ignore the fact that I'm a few  _hundred_  feet up in the air, and make a running leap at the torch. I land easily, perching like a bird on the structure's rim.

Myles lets out a rather undignified squawk at my sudden appearance and immediately starts looking around for someone- most likely James- to tell him what to do.

"Myles, it's ok," I tell him, reaching out a hand in a placating gesture. The mutagen machine sits in the center of the torch, between us. "It's just me, little bro."

How sad is it that my nickname for him still comes to me so easily, despite everything?

He's still uncertain, his eyes darting around wildly.  _Definitely_  getting a big whiff of crazy coming off of him right now, which is just fucking  _perfect._  Talk about a conversational minefield. "Hey, Sissy. H-have you seen Fox?"

I can't help grimacing.

Oh, I've seen Fox alright. I don't think I'll ever  _un-see_  him, dead and bloody on the floor. And while I know he'll have to find out eventually, I have a bad feeling that telling Myles our brother is dead in the current circumstances would set him on a one-way track to crazy town. I need to keep him calm right now so I can talk him down a little.

Because clearly I'm back to being the Crazy Person Whisperer.

"Yeah, sure have," I reply. I easily slip back into my old "big sister" role, scolding Myles the way I used to. Back when we were young and things were so much simpler, when he looked to me as the only mother figure he had left. "Him and your new buddy Sabretooth. I know all about your plan with him, just so you know. Getting him to kill Beast for you and then taking me away to do such sick things to me? How could you do that to your  _sister,_  Myles? And what the hell were you guys  _thinking,_  trying to double cross that bastard?"

"We only wanted to keep all of us together," Myles says, his tone somehow both pleading and defensive. "Forever. You, me, James, and our babies."

"I have a mate, Myles," I explain, straining to keep my revulsion from bleeding through. How can he not understand how utterly  _disgusting_  that sounds? "I love him. I'm his, and he's mine."

"Beast took you from us," my brother growls.

The accusation makes me snap. "If anyone took me from you, it was Magneto," I retort heatedly. "You and James- I lost you as soon as you started thinking of humans as lesser beings. And then to make it worse you  _killed_  all of my friends. Those people never did anything to anyone, Myles!"

"No," Myles argues earnestly, "we didn't kill them. We made them better for you, so you can have mutant friends!"

He says it so innocently, like what happened to Mr. Cole and Marcel was supposed to be some sort of act of love, to make my friends more "evolved" somehow. The thought makes me sick.

"And now this machine is going to make everybody in New York like us! Can you imagine, Sissy? Being able to walk around-"

"Myles, listen to me," I interject. "This machine kills people. Human bodies can't handle the mutation and-"

Peter, looking a bit worse for wear and distinctly unhappy, suddenly appears on the torch with Hank in tow. The speedster must have snuck up on him in hyperspace or whatever and caught him.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

How is Hank going to disable this stupid machine now?

"Hey, Vixie," Peter says. He makes an attempt at casual, but I can hear his underlying anxiety.

Something bad is coming. As in, some _one_.

"Peter," I reply. My gaze goes to Hank, trying to convey my concern. "Where's Magneto?"

The speedster winces. Answer enough.

Myles snarls as the sight of Hank trapped finally registers with him. Slow on the uptake, as usual. "You-" he growls, getting ready to spring.

I don't have time to worry about him, though, because just then my knives start to vibrate in their holsters. It strikes me now that megalomaniac metal-bender who fucking hates my guts is on his way up here and I'm absolutely  _covered_  in metal.

An involuntary, horrified gasp escapes me as I begin to tear off my knives and toss them away from me. They vibrate even more on the torch's floor, a harbinger of the crazy bastard who's on his way.

Myles just looks puzzled, but Hank immediately cottons on. He strains against Peter's hold, despite his arms being pinioned behind his back, desperately trying to help me. "Hurry," he urges. "Hurry, Vivien, Your gloves, too-"

I'm not fast enough.

Suddenly I'm jerked backwards over the side of the torch, like an invisible puppeteer pulled on my strings.

Or more like the adamantium knives still in the sheaths across my back.

Now I'm  _scared_ , ok? I'm scared.

Right now I'm hanging suspended by my knife sheathes a few hundred feet in the air, with only the will of a metal-manipulating nutcase keeping me from turning into a smear on Liberty Island's lawn. Forgive me for being sorta pants-shittingly terrified.

"Vivien!" Hank cries out helplessly. Oh sweet baby Jesus, am I going to die right in front of him?

"What have we here?" a smug voice calls out.

Magneto smoothly levitates into sight, with Wanda clinging to him to hitch a ride. She has a bloody nose and looks rather lightheaded, but Daddy Dearest appears to be unscathed and pleased as punch over this predicament.

I'm  _so_  fucking screwed.

They touch down lightly, joining the little party forming on the torch.

Wish  _I_  was invited, shit.

Magneto provides yet  _another_  prime example of how to be a huge dick by ignoring the way his own daughter slumps to the floor once he stops supporting her weight. He's too busy gloating about having us in his clutches to have any concern for her. What an asshole.

He spares Hank a mere glance before turning towards me. Hank's been a regular annoyance to him for years at this point, but I just recently stole the crown for being the  _biggest_  pain in his ass.

"So," he says contemptuously, "the traitor makes one last effort to stop our righteous endeavor to help mutant kind."

_"Righteous endeavor?"_   _Seriously?_

If I wasn't one long fall away from turning into a pancake I would've rolled my eyes at his histrionics.

I try not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how scared I am to be at his mercy like this. I keep my head up high as I defiantly retort, "if I'm a traitor to anyone it's to  _myself._  For letting myself get caught up in this human-hating bullshit in the first place."

"We're trying to make things better for our kind," the prick replies, all self-righteous and shit.

I shake my head furiously. "You're wrong," I tell him. And yeah, I might sound a little desperate. "You're making it  _worse._  Right now mutants are just the monsters in the closet, but if you use that stupid machine you're going to make it open season on us all, can't you see?"

"The mutagenic formula in this machine introduces mutations that are completely unsustainable for the human body to withstand," Hank adds quickly. "If you use it, you're going to kill every non-mutant citizen of New York City."

This stirs Wanda from her woozy stupor. "Kill?" she repeats, frowning.

I seize on her hesitation- it gives me hope that we can turn this situation around somehow, if only we can get them to listen to reason and stop all of this.

Wow.

Look at me, trying to use words instead of my knives to solve problems. Remind me to give myself a gold star if I get out of this alive.

"Yes, Wanda," I reply earnestly. I'm practically  _begging_  her to believe me. "I've seen it with my own eyes- my brothers gave my human friends the serum, and that's what killed them. I watched them  _die_  in front of me."

Wanda seems to ponder this; Peter, too, shifts uncomfortably at the new information. It seems like neither of them like the sound of what this machine really does.

And then suddenly I'm plummeting through the air, free falling into nothingness.

The last thing I see is Hank's anguished, panicked expression as he watches me disappear from sight.

"No!" he cries.

_Oh God, is this how it ends?_


	109. Momentum

**Momentum**

I won't lie- I scream as I fall, flailing my arms helplessly while I drop like a stone. So much for being brave, right?

"Sissy!" I hear Myles exclaim past the air rushing around me.

"Dad!" the twins snap.

Suddenly my free-fall comes to an abrupt halt. Instead I start rising back up to the torch, in view of the others again.

_Oh thank God, thank God._

I'm shaking like a leaf now, but I really can't help it.

My gaze finds Hank's, and I can  _feel_  his fear for me, flowing from his eyes into mine. I can sense his agony over being so powerless to help me, his mate. He's straining against Peter's hold so hard to get to me that he can barely manage to keep himself upright. I'm so sorry that he has to see this, that he has to experience all of this anguish on my account.

"Don't lie to us anymore," Magneto orders.

"I-I'm not lying," I argue shakily.

The evil bastard raises his eyebrows disdainfully and flicks his wrist.

I bite back a scream as I drop a foot or so in the air, a clear warning. "I'm  _not_ ," I repeat, and I flinch in preparation for another free fall. If I make it through this I'm never going on the drop zone ride at the fair  _ever_  again. "I swear, this thing  _kills_  people. Not like that would bother  _you,_  Magneto."

He can't argue that last one, that's for damn sure. Magneto's never been squeamish about human collateral damage when it comes to his crazy schemes.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Hank suddenly calls out, before the metal-bender can make a reply. His voice is even and calm, though his eyes betray his desperation. "He's trying to scare you, but we both know that Magneto needs to keep you alive. Unless he plans to break his word to Sabretooth, but I don't think that would be wise."

He's right.

Oh my God, he's  _right-_  Magneto  _can't_  kill me, not unless he wants a three hundred plus pound (and possibly immortal) feral psychopath hunting him down. He may be a cocky prick, but he's not suicidal or stupid.

I nod, trying to take a calming breath.

As I do I take note of everyone's reactions to Hank's observation.

Magneto and Myles both glower at Hank, pouting because he tattled on them. But the twins... both of them look confused, which gives me hope. That means they weren't in on the plan to hand me over to Sabretooth, thank God. What a relief.

"What are you talking about?" Peter demands of my mate.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Hank asks, glancing over his shoulder at him in a feigned casual air. "We overheard your father making a deal with Sabretooth. In exchange for his help tonight, Magneto is going to give him Vivien. Go on and ask him if you don't believe me."

"Dad?" The question comes from Wanda, slumped against the railing. She looks  _pissed._

Magneto doesn't get the chance to explain himself, because lo-and-behold, who should show up but tall, dark and scary himself.

Sabretooth climbs over the torch's rim- damn, it's getting crowded over there- and snarls in barely contained rage as he surveys the situation.  _Not_  a pretty picture, considering that he's covered in blood.

Looks like he managed to resurrect himself after all. Damn, next time I should try cutting his fucking head off and see if that makes him  _stay_  dead.

He stomps around the machine in the middle to stand in front of where I'm floating helplessly and gives Magneto an expectant look.

The metal-bender grimaces- because he doesn't want to cough me up without taking out some revenge first, or because he knows this doesn't look good in front of his kids, I don't know. What I  _do_  know is that it's  _not_  because he feels guilty about bargaining over a person without their knowledge or consent. That's too much empathy for this dick.

Whatever the reason for his reluctance, Magneto still allows me to drift forward, into Sabretooth's grasp.

I hiss and try to keep myself away, but of course there's nothing for my feet to find purchase on in thin air.

As soon as I'm close enough I spit in the feral's face, just doing anything I can to stay out of his clutches. The very  _thought_  of this bastard touching me makes my skin crawl.

He snarls and snatches me out of the air by the throat. He then spins me around back-to-front and presses against me, one hand pinning me in place by the neck while the other openly gropes me. It's the most degrading, wretched thing I've ever experienced, and the worst part is Hank being forced to watch this fucker touch me and  _both_  of us being so powerless to stop it.

I fight the urge to vomit and try to struggle free, but that just makes him tighten his grip on my throat. I can feel his claws digging sharply into my skin, a chilling reminder of what happened to James downstairs.

"You're gonna pay for that, frail," Sabretooth growls, and I'm pretty sure that's not an empty threat.

As if the situation wasn't bad enough already, Magneto now turns to the machine and begins the start up sequence.

"Dad, are you sure about this?" Wanda asks weakly.

"Absolutely," her father replies. "You can't let Charles' pets twist your thoughts with their lies."

"But... what if they're not lying?" Peter presses. "And you can't just do this to Vivien-"

Magneto's expression is glacial as he looks at his children. "We've come too far to stop now," he snaps. "And Vixen deserves whatever happens to her."

_Yeah, well- right back at you, asshole._

"But-"

"Enough. Don't try to stop this, you two," he interjects coldly. "You won't like what happens if you do."

Father of the year, this guy.

Looks like the twins finally understand what I've been trying to tell them all along- namely, that their dad is a crazy bastard who doesn't give a shit about anything except his heinous ideals. Nothing else matters. Not even his own damn children.

But did the realization come too late to stop him?

The machine now slips into its second phase, meaning only one more until the aerosolized compound will be released into the air. And then everyone in New York City dies.

My gaze meets Peter's, barely visible as he is behind Hank.

_Please,_  I mentally plead with him _._  Please _don't let your dad do this._

And in that moment I sense a shift.

Peter's jaw clenches tight, and he gives me an almost imperceptible nod. I see his lips moving as he whispers something to Hank, though his voice is too quiet to hear from here over Sabretooth's nasty breathing and the continuous snarl Hank's been keeping up.

It's only because I'm watching so closely- Magneto's too busy with his murder machine and Sabretooth's so intent on groping me that they don't notice- that I see how Hank strains against Peter again, fighting to get to me, and actually stumbles an infinitesimal bit this time. Peter's no longer holding him back.

Yes!

_Come on, baby. Come on._

Immediately after I see Peter's lips form the word "three," Hank makes an explosive leap across the torch, launching himself at Magneto before the crazy bastard even knows what hit him. My mate punches him in just the right spot on his head, exactly how I taught him. Magneto collapses like a rag doll, out cold.

The second the metal bender is out of the equation I make my move.

I call my knives back to me with a flick of my wrists, and in one motion flip them around to stab Sabretooth neatly under his rib cage on either side of my own body. I duck out of his grasp while he's still reacting to the pain and turn around, ready to keep him occupied while Hank disables the machine.

Most of my focus is now on trying to disembowel the fucker- I  _really_  did not like him touching me, alright?- but I still hear Peter telling Hank he doesn't know how to turn off the machine.

"Hank," I snap, just in case my overprotective husband is thinking about staging a  _wildly_  unnecessary rescue. I can handle  _myself,_  thanks. And to prove it I block a blow from an angry Mr. Psycho and duck under his guard to slice through his tricep. "Turn that damn thing off!"

Hank grimaces and redirects his attention the machine, thank Jesus. He's never let me down before, and he's too smart to start now- especially not with so much at stake. I have complete faith in him.

It should be noted that until this moment Myles has been a complete nonentity in the equation. Without me or James here to tell him what to do he's chosen instead to pace nervously on the far side of the torch, tearing at his hair and becoming more and more cuckoo for cocoa puffs with each passing minute.

He picks  _now_  to finally make a move. And boy, does his timing suck.

Myles launches himself into the fray just as I hop onto the railing to gain the advantage of the high ground against Sabretooth. I manage to slash him across the face right as my brother slams into the massive feral, causing him to pitch over the torch's railing, head-first.

And over Myles goes too, his momentum carrying him forward. I try to dodge, teetering on the railing, but can't manage to clear them both in time. On his way over Sabretooth's shoulder knocks into me, right in the chest.

_Everything_  in me wants to keep my balance on that fucking rail, to stay upright, because I know my very  _life_  depends on it-

But the force of the blow is too much, and I fall over the side as well.

My eyes lock on Hank's, his terror and despairing expression burning into my retinas forever. My mouth opens to let out a scream as I drop out of my darling's sight-

And then suddenly a silver blur has hold of my hand, even as we both continue to fall.

Peter, Peter followed me over the edge. But now we're both going to-

Our plummet to oblivion abruptly halts, the leftover momentum causing us to swing like a wind chime in the breeze as I grip onto Peter's wrist with both hands. Our sudden stop is thanks to Hank, now hanging off the side of the torch. He's holding onto Peter's ankle with one hand and the edge of the bottom railing with his hand-feet.

_That's my Beastie Boy. Oh, thank you Jesus._

"Are you ok?" Hank calls down anxiously.

Looks like  _neither_  of them had a problem with diving off the side of the torch to follow me, despite the obvious risk. Peter got to me first because of his quickness, but without Hank's dexterity we would have died. My heroes, both of them.

"Just peachy," Peter quips before I can answer.

His dark eyes, wide with adrenaline, stand out vividly against his pale face. I guess I can't blame him for the wild-eyed look- some teens steal their dad's car for a night of joyriding, but Peter's gotta top them all by thwarting Dadneto's terrorist plot. Talk about go big or go home.

"Hanging upside down a thousand feet off the ground is totally my idea of a good time."

I can't help smiling a bit at that.

Hank looks like he's resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Vivien?" he asks more pointedly.

"I'm ok," I assure him. I would feel a helluva lot better if I had something solid under my feet, but at least I'm not falling to my death anymore. Definitely looking on the bright side on that.

"Just hold on a little longer, darling."

It takes some careful maneuvering and a bit of assistance from Wanda, but we're finally able to get back to the safety of the torch platform.

As soon as we're both upright I collapse, trembling from head to toe, into Hank's arms. I almost died like, three times, so I think the moment of weakness is forgivable, alright?

My mate holds me tightly and nuzzles my hair, purring deep in his chest as if to reassure me that we're both safe and sound.

We did it. We succeeded.

We stopped Magneto's plot and both made it out alive somehow. But at such a heavy cost.

"Myles..." I whisper.

I watched James die right in front of me, but Myles? I know, logically speaking, that there's no way he survived that fall. There was nothing to save him, nothing to catch hold of on the way down. Nothing except Sabretooth, and who knows if even  _he_  could live through that drop.

Not even a hint of optimism rears its shiny head in my mind, no shred of hope that Myles survived somehow. Deep in my bones I already know the truth, no matter how much it hurts to admit it.

Both of my brothers are gone.

"I know," Hank murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

"Me, too."

The words feel incredibly inadequate for the emotions swirling through my mind. Sorrow, guilt, anger, regret- I don't even know how to  _begin_  to sort out my feelings towards my brothers.

I mean, should I feel  _guilty_  for the relief flowing through me right now? Hank is  _alive,_  thank God, and so am I. There will be a tomorrow for us, a whole future that won't involve the Brotherhood's bullshit. I'm thankful to still be breathing.

And I know who I owe that to.

"Thank you, for saving me," I murmur. I pull away just enough to look my mate in the eye, a wry smile tugging on my lips. "And you used to hate your feet. How about now?"

Hank chuckles dryly. "I don't think I'll ever complain about them again," he replies.


	110. The Aftermath

**The Aftermath**

Hank deserves a buttload of credit, but I know he didn't save me on his own. I'm alive right now because of Peter's help.

The moment we reached safety Wanda basically attacked her brother, alternating between smacking him and hugging him hard enough to make his eyes bug out for pulling such a dangerous stunt. Now I decide to intervene- the poor guy's turning a little blue and looks like he needs the help.

I detach myself from Hank, though I can sense his reluctance to let me go, and step closer to the silver-haired speedster. "Thanks for saving me, Peter."

He shrugs, pretending to be casual, but I know better because when I hug him he squeezes too tight.

"Seriously," Hank adds, "thank you. For Vivien, and..."

He gestures towards Magneto.

"I didn't do it for you," Peter impudently replies.

He yelps when I pinch him.

"Be nice," I admonish, stepping away and back into Hank's waiting embrace.

"What do we do now?" Wanda asks then. She looks rather lost. "I'd say the Brotherhood is officially dead now."

"You could join the X-Men," I offer, but I already know how the suggestion will be received.

Sure enough, the twins wrinkle their noses in displeasure.

"Or not."

"Who says we have to be on a team, right? Let's just go back to Mom's house for a bit," Peter says. "I miss Lorna. And Mom's probably dead bored without me around for the excitement."

Somehow I doubt that.

"And your dad?" Hank asks.

That's the million dollar question, since Magneto's obviously too dangerous to be allowed to go free. But will the twins agree?

Peter and Wanda exchange loaded looks. Their twin-speak, the secret language only the two of them understand. I've always been so jealous of them for that. I never got to be that close to either of my brothers, and now I'll never get to.

I force down the wave of sorrow that threatens to surface at that depressing realization.

Wanda shrugs. She's trying to seem nonchalant, but can't quite manage it. "Take him to the cops," she tells us. "The lies and everything he sold us on- we had no idea what this machine could really do. And now I'm just... I don't want to be a puppet for  _anyone_  anymore. Not even our dad." She takes her brother's hand. "Right, Peter?"

"Right."

The Macy's Fourth of July fireworks start just then, and by unspoken agreement the four of us turn to watch the display over the East River. It's nice to have a moment after all the death-defying excitement.

And besides- it kinda puts an exclamation point on Wanda's declaration of independence from Dadneto.

Speaking of said crazy asshole, he stirs once during the show, like he's swimming back to consciousness. I send him right back to dreamland with a swift kick to the temple.

And yeah, it feels  _really_  good to do that.

After the fireworks are over we make a strange little parade of our own down the stairs.

Wanda hexes the mutagen machine to be feather-light so she and Peter can get it back down to the ground level. I lead the way, carrying the vials containing the actual formula as a precaution. Hank brings up the rear with Magneto's body slung over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.

"This is so slow," Peter complains. "Why didn't we just drop this stupid thing off the side?"

"Because we don't want anyone to have the pieces, just in case," Hank replies.

"'Just in case?' God, Vixie, is he always such a worrywart?"

I glance over my shoulder at him. "Always," I say, smiling fondly. "But I don't mind. He worries, I act without thinking, and we make it out alive somehow."

Hank gives me an adorable, goofy smile and misses a step on the stairs. Magneto's head smacks the wall with a rather harsh thud.

Can't say I'm all that bothered.

The feeling of triumph and relief vanishes when we reach the museum downstairs. James' body is still laying there where we left it, and the gory sight even makes Peter sober up for a moment.

My brother's death was as violent as his life, but I can't bring myself to appreciate the poetic justice of that symmetry. Seeing him like this, so ravaged and utterly pitiful, makes it easy to forget the several versions of hell he put me through over the years.

Death has a way of doing that to people, I guess. Selective amnesia.

I can't leave him like this, him and Myles. No matter what, they are- excuse me,  _were-_  my blood, and it doesn't feel right to leave them here for strangers to find and dispose of like trash.

As I make my decision Hank moves to my side like a magnet, ever read to provide support. It's like he can read my mind sometimes, the way he knows just when I'll need him.

Again, I feel  _so_  incredibly thankful he's alive. As long as he's breathing I know I'll be alright, somehow.

"Can we- do you think we can bring them with us?" I ask him quietly. "I think I want to cremate them and take them back to Louisiana."

"We'll make something work," Hank assures me after a moment's thought.

We exit the Statue of Liberty to find the X-Men finishing up with the resistance.

Havok sees us first, and he immediately tenses when he catches sight of our ex-Brotherhood compatriots. He raises a fist, ready to fire- still shoot first, ask questions later. Jesus Christ, will he  _ever_  learn?

"Easy," Hank calls out quickly. "These two were a big help up there."

Our Fearless Leader looks incredulous but allows us to approach without turning us into crispy critters.

"You stopped it, then?" he asks, gesturing towards the machine Peter and Wanda are still holding. "No problems?"

Hank nods.

"And you two?" Havok prods.

"We're out of here," Peter replies. "Vixie-"

He dumps his end of the machine, forcing Wanda to follow suit. It tumbles to the ground like a pile of junk as the Maximoff twins enfold me in a three-way hug.

Oh God, I'm facing yet  _another_  goodbye.

_At least this one doesn't have to be forever,_  I tell myself sternly when I feel the tears start behind my eyes.  _You'll see them again._

I really hope so.

After all the mistrust and heartbreak we went through, it turns out Wanda and Peter were truly my friends this whole time. And they still are.

I mean, they sold out their dad and Peter jumped off a three hundred foot statue for me. If that isn't friendship, I don't know what is.

"I know better than to say, 'stay out of trouble,'" I tell them dryly, once the embrace is broken. "So... keep the trouble to a minimum, ok?"

"You mean me, don't you?" Peter asks.

"Yes,  _you_."

"You're asking a lot of him, you know," Wanda mutters. "But we'll both do our best."

I chuckle, but then I get a little serious. "Thank you, guys," I say, "for doing the right thing before it was too late."

"Sorry about Fox and Jackal," Wanda tells me.

"Thanks," I reply sadly. "Me, too. Take care of each other."

I give them each one last hug, including a kiss on the cheek for Peter.

He has a wistful expression on his face when I pull away, which kinda makes me sad. I care about him a lot, but if what Hank said is true about Peter being in love with me, I know how I feel will never be enough for him. I feel bad for Peter, but I also know who I belong with.

Peter fixes a half-mocking, half-threatening look on Hank. "You take care of her, Fur Ball," he warns. "Or I'll kick your ass faster than you can blink.  _And_  steal your wallet while I'm at it."

"Duly noted," Hank murmurs wryly.

I roll my eyes.

"Bye, Vixie."

And just like that they're gone.

Havok looks after them rather helplessly. "Are you sure that was a good idea?" he asks.

"Yes," Hank replies. "I think if those two want to disappear quietly and leave their Brotherhood days behind them it would be unwise to distract them from that goal. And besides-"

He gestures towards me.

"-I owe Peter a greater debt than I could ever repay," he observes softly. "Letting him walk is the least I can do."

Havok lets out an irritated huff. "Alright. Let's get going, then," he mutters reluctantly. His next words are louder and directed to the area at large. "Everybody rendezvous at the jet. Let's get out of here."

"There's something Vivien and I need to do first," Hank says, dumping Magneto unceremoniously to the ground. He starts walking towards the Blackbird- oh Jesus, does the jet even come equipped with body bags? Hank is  _such_  a fucking boy scout. "We'll be quick, though."

Havok nods in acknowledgement and turns to me once Hank is inside. His raised eyebrows ask a silent question.

"My brothers didn't make it," I explain dully. "Sabretooth killed James in the museum and then Myles..."

What exactly did my little brother intend when he attacked Sabretooth? Was it simple aggression, brought on by yet another bout of insanity? Or was he trying to save me from the other feral?

God, I want to believe that.

I want to believe he was just trying to help me somehow and messed up, the same way he did a hundred different times when we were younger. There were  _several_  occasions where he tried to surprise me with a meal and ended up almost setting whatever apartment we were living in at the time on fire. He could never learn-

And now he never will.

I clear my throat, avoiding the questions I see in every face- the rest of the X-Men have reached us by now in preparation to leave. I don't want to hear a bunch of fake ass apologies right now, knowing that none of these people really give a shit that my brothers are dead. "We'll have to find Myles' body. It's out here somewhere," I manage to calmly tell Havok.

"I'll help you," Jean offers. I see a wealth of compassion in her eyes when I chance a look at her face.

"You want to come help hunt down my brother's broken dead body in the dark?" The words come out with a lot more edge than I intended, but forgive me for being a little snippy right now.

She nods and gives me a tiny smile. "That's what friends are for," she tells me.

The comment coaxes a bitter grin out of me. "Who the hell have you been hanging out with, Jean?"

She shrugs and chuckles just a little.

At this point Hank returns with a couple sheets and also some zipties and a syringe full of sedative to use on Magneto.

After getting the megalomaniac squared away Havok directs Angel to carry him to the nearest police station and dump him outside. Considering Magneto's wanted for attempting to assassinate one president and succeeding with another, I'm pretty sure that before he wakes up the fucker will find himself back in that cell under the Pentagon.

And I'm not even a bit sorry for that.

With the rest of the X-Men waiting for Angel to get back, Hank, Jean and I head out into the darkness under the torch to see if we can find Myles.

It doesn't take long to locate him, all flattened and surrounded by blood. Turns out all my fears of turning into a pancake after a fall from that high up weren't all that exaggerated. It's a struggle to keep myself from falling apart at the sight of my baby brother looking like that- limbs splayed out, brains hanging out of the back of his head- but I do.

We're all wary as Jean uses her powers to lift Myles, and then James, into the sheets we spread out, keeping an eye open for Sabretooth. Thankfully there's no sign save for a patch of blood near where we found Myles. I think the bastard decided to go lick his wounds rather than coming after us again tonight.

I don't mind. I'll take the lucky breaks where I can right now.

* * *

I plop down on the floor between my brothers' corpses once we have them settled in the Blackbird's cabin rear. It feels right for me to be there with them. One last time.

"Do you want me to sit with you?" Jean asks kindly.

I shake my head. "Thank you, but no. I- I need some space on this one," I reply calmly.

She gives me a long, steady look but finally nods. "I can do that," she agrees.

I spend the flight back to Westchester sitting hunched over with my knees drawn to my chest, between my brothers. My heart still hurts but my eyes stay dry, despite the urge earlier.

Maybe the tears will come later, but for now... right now I feel all cried out. It's not that I feel numb to what's happened, because trust me, I fucking  _feel_  it. It's more like I've spent all my tears for these two and I have nothing left for them. Maybe that makes me a terrible person, I don't know.

Soon enough we return to the mansion, meaning the X-Men can go celebrate their victory over the Brotherhood without me bringing them down. I could tell they were all happy about the win today but didn't want to show it on my account. I guess part of me understands that, and kinda appreciates the thoughtfulness.

The rest of me just feels bitter over the price of this triumph to me personally.

Together Hank and I carry the bodies to the incinerator he conveniently happens to have on site. It's for biohazardous materials, he says. Tonight it's going to double as a crematorium.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks.

I nod. "You know Viking funerals are my body disposal method of choice," I murmur, summoning up a wry smile for him.

He looks uncomfortable that I even  _have_  a preferred method for something so morbid, but doesn't comment and presses "start." The corpses immediately catch fire, burning away the remains of my last living blood relatives.

_And then there was one,_  I think glumly. I don't know if it's _truly_ sunk in yet.

"Tell me what to do for you," Hank suddenly says. He looks rather desperate to fix this somehow. "What do you need?"

Oh, my sweet Hank.

I step closer and snuggle against him.

His arms automatically wrap around me, and that sense of  _home_  immediately takes over. It alleviates some of my pain, just being in his embrace.

"Just this," I sigh. "Just you."


	111. The Prices We Paid

**The Prices We Paid**

July 7, 1975

I turn automatically to see who's entering the room and give Hank a faint smile before turning back to looking outside.

I've been spending a lot of time sitting on the window seat in Hank's room the past few days, kinda pondering the enormity of what's happened. Accepting the truth, letting it sink in.

My brothers are dead.

And I'm sad, yeah, but not as much as you'd expect. The more time I have to think about it, the more I realize that I already grieved for my brothers before their earthly bodies truly died. I mourned them back when they killed Marcel and the others from Hell's Kitchen, because I knew at that point they were lost to me.

I'm still so fucking  _mad_  at my brothers for what they did to my friends, and their disgusting designs on me. How could they do that to innocent people? To their own  _sister_? Why couldn't they care about me the way they  _should_  have, as their flesh and blood?

But they didn't, and now they're gone. They'll never get a shot at making this right, not to me or to anyone else. There will never be a reconciliation between us. Myles and James died hating me, and me hating them.

God, where did we go so wrong? Was it just when Magneto got a hold of them, or were my brothers doomed even before then? Was it when Stryker drove Myles to madness? When those rednecks killed our parents?  _When?_

The question haunts me, though I know it shouldn't matter. Even if I figured out the exact moment it all went to hell, I wouldn't be able to change it.

On top of that sense of futility, I feel guilty for this massive  _relief_  I can't help feeling.

Myles is gone, and he'll never be a danger to himself or anyone else again. I won't ever have to bust James out of jail or whatever other trouble his temper could get him into. I don't have to take care of  _either_  of them anymore, or fear their evil intentions for me and Hank.

For the longest time I felt trapped by my brothers, knowing they needed me too much for me to ever go live my own life without them. My dreams of being a teacher, of making a difference in the world- none of it was possible while they were alive. Even  _after_  I washed my hands of them, while they lived I think a tiny part of me would have taken a little responsibility for every person James and Myles hurt or killed. I would always be wondering if I could have talked them out of the violence somehow.

Now I'm irrevocably free, free to live happily ever after with my Prince Charming and do all the things I've always hoped for.

But the price of my future happiness was at the expense of my brothers' lives. How sick is that? Maybe I'm just as fucked up as they were, for being grateful for my freedom. It's a bitter aftertaste, a dark shadow cast on the sunniness that is my future.

The emotional subtleties of the whole situation are a lot to process, ok? So yeah, I'm pretty conflicted right now.

And considering that I'm not all that great at expressing myself in the first place, I haven't really known what to do with myself the past couple days. I guess my only real recourse has been to kinda shut down and figure it out on my own.

Hence me spending so much time sitting quietly at the window, lost in thought.

"Vivien-" Hank blurts out, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?" I ask absently.

I turn to look at him again, taking note of the anxiety in his sunset-colored eyes.

It actually strikes me as strange that he's still in his Beast form, it being Monday and all. He always uses his serum on weekdays- he says his claws can be hard to work with down in the lab.

But then, maybe he's staying in his Beast form in order to better comfort me, because he knows I prefer him like this. I mean, when it comes to cuddling, my furry Beastie Boy wins every competition, hands down. And I've been needing  _a lot_  of cuddles lately.

"H-how are you?" he asks tentatively.

_My brothers just died. I'm fucking_  super, _obviously._

I swallow down a snippy retort- Hank doesn't deserve me taking out my emotional constipation on him, and I want to be better about that. I shrug and murmur, "I'm fine, I guess."

He crosses the room and kneels next to me. "Are you really?" he presses. "Darling- I'm worried about you. I'm here for you, you know that. Right?"

"I know," I reply calmly, brushing my hand across his face. We've already had this conversation a few times. "I'm sorry that you've been worried."

And really, I am.

I'm aware that I've been rather withdrawn over the past few days, even with Hank. It's not like I've been  _ignoring_  him- I answer when he speaks to me, and I sleep in his arms every night. I just haven't felt like talking or laughing or anything like that, which is pretty unlike me. And yeah, maybe I haven't been eating much. That's a big red flag just by itself, so I get why he's concerned.

Hank grimaces and shakes his head slightly, like he's disappointed.

"What's with the look?" I ask.

"I just- I'm waiting for it to really hit you, I guess, that they're gone," he blurts out. "For you to break down and-"

I shake my head. "I've already cried my tears for my brothers," I murmur, looking back out of the window. "I lost them months ago. The men who died that night were monsters who wore my brothers' faces."

"Then what's wrong, Vivien? Please tell me how you feel," Hank pleads.

"I'm not sure I know what I feel," I admit. "I guess I'm pissed off at them for what they did to my friends, what they tried to do to me. I'm angry that they died without ever trying to make it right. There's no shot at redemption now, not anymore. Hope's always the last thing to die, isn't it? Because I guess I hoped for this last minute change of heart, for my brothers to prove that they loved me the way they should have, as their sister, but it never happened. They were just fucked up and crazy and now they're dead. But they were my  _brothers,_  you know?"

Hank reaches out to smooth out my hands, which as I spoke clenched into fists so tight my claws bit into my flesh. I honestly didn't even notice I was doing it until then.

"I want to believe Myles was trying to help you when he died," he proposes gently.

"Maybe," I concede, with no small amount of bitterness. God knows I want to believe that, too. "But because I'm his sister, or because of whatever twisted feelings he had for me?"

Hank seems to be at a loss for words for a moment, which tells me enough. He thinks it  _wasn't_  fraternal affection that motivated Myles, he just doesn't know how to say it. "We'll never know," he finally offers.

His crappy, diplomatic non-answer makes me snort. The man really can't lie, even to save my feelings.

God, I love him.

I pull him in for an embrace so his head is pressed against my chest, and his arms easily wrap around me. I can tell even just the  _hint_  of laughter from me made him feel loads better about my mental state. That's a relief- I hate worrying him so much.

"I really am sorry to worry you, baby," I murmur, nuzzling his hair. "I do that a lot, don't I?"

Hank grunts dismissively. "Worrying about you is in the job description," he mutters. "I just want you to be happy, darling."

"I know," I whisper. Jesus, this mushiness is getting me all choked up. "I'm so lucky to have you."

His arms tighten around me. "And I, you," he says. And then, after a long moment, he takes a deep breath and says, "Vivien, I have something to tell you."

The statement immediately puts me on my guard. "What's wrong, baby?" I ask. "Besides everything, I mean."

Hank pulls away just enough to look me in the eyes, though his hands stay on my waist as he kneels in front of me. "The other night, when I disabled Erik's machine, I-I breathed in a bit of the mutagen formula."

He falters, as if gathering the courage to tell me something horrible.

_Oh Jesus,_  no. _Not him, you can't take_  him _from me after everything else-_

"Does that mean-? Are you- are you trying to tell me you're dying?" I gasp, clutching at his shirt. He's  _dying,_  and I've been sitting here  _wasting_  our remaining time together. Could fate really be this cruel? "Hank-"

"No, no," he replies hastily. "Darling, no. If it could affect me that way I'd already be dead. I suppose it's because I'm already a mutant that it didn't kill me."

Oh, thank God.

I let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Ok," I say slowly. "Then why are you telling me this?"

He swallows. "I tried to use my serum today, and..."

"It doesn't work anymore?" I guess. Suddenly his furry blue state, despite it being Monday, makes much more sense.

He nods glumly. "Correct."

I let out a long breath. To me it's not even in the same zip code as the thought of him dying, but for Hank, with all his insecurities, it's probably been a traumatic realization.

There's kinda a sense of poetic tragedy to his predicament. He ended up stuck like this because of his efforts to save the humans of New York City. And if those same humans saw him and all his furry blue glory they'd probably freak the fuck out.

Those people will probably  _always_  treat him with disdain for the way he looks. They'll never understand how much they owe him for their very lives.

God, it's so  _unfair._

But at least  _I_  know the truth of this incredible man's sacrifice. That has to be worth  _something,_  right?

"Ok," I murmur. "And how do you feel about that?"

Hank shrugs. "I think... I actually think I'm ok with it," he tells me.

I give him an incredulous look. "Don't bullshit me," I warn. "You don't have to pretend to be fine with me, Hank. I mean, it's a worthy sacrifice you made, and you know I like you this way. But I also know you've always been really self-conscious about your Beast form."

"Maybe I always will be," he admits. "But truly, I think I'm ok. Or at least, I will be. I have you, after all. Right?"

I roll my eyes. "That goes without saying, baby."

His bashful, adorable grin still gives me butterflies, even now. "So I have a woman who loves me, no matter what I look like," he reasons. "Yes, it would be easier for me- for  _us_ \- if I was still able to look normal when necessary, but there's nothing I can do about that now. I thought about it, and I realize that I have too much to be thankful for in my life to allow myself to wallow in misery over something I can't change. And besides-"

His thumbs brush along my stomach.

"Remember when you accused me of being a hypocrite for using a drug to look normal, when we're supposed to be teaching the kids here to accept themselves?

I frown. "Yeah, but I was talking about you hiding from your emotions, remember?"

"I remember. But you were also right about the other ways I hide, too," he confesses. "It's time to start practicing what I preach, Vivien. Any children we have are bound to have physical mutations, with parents like us. I want them to grow up knowing that there's nothing wrong with them, no matter what they look like. I can't do that if I'm hiding what I am."

Wow. He's really thought this through and come to terms with it. Not only for his own sake, but for our children's as well. What an amazing father he will be.

What an amazing man he already  _is._

There's no way in hell that I will ever deserve Hank, and even if I lived a thousand years I wouldn't be able to find a better man. I'm the luckiest woman alive to have him, to be able to call him  _mine._

I lean in and kiss him ardently, trying to  _show_  him all of these feelings because I just don't know the words. "I am so proud of you," I whisper against his lips, cradling his face in my hands. "I really am, baby."

Hank threads his claws through my hair and kisses me again, fervent and intense.

The passion immediately escalates between us, like fading embers fanning back into a roaring inferno. I definitely don't mind. I think we  _both_  need this right now. A physical expression of our love and complete devotion to one another, despite the outside forces that threaten to break us.

Things aren't alright by any means, but at least we have each other.

And together, we can take on anything.


	112. The Future Is Bright

**The Future Is Bright**

Eventually we move to the bed to enjoy the afterglow and forget about all the problems I know we'll face, at least for just a little while. The respite is just what we both needed, I think.

"Hmm," I hum, snuggling against Hank's side. "I feel a lot better now."

"Yes, well- not to brag, but sex with me has been known to have that effect," he replies smugly.

I burst into giggles and pretend to smother him with a pillow. "I meant after  _talking_  about everything, dork."

Hank flips onto his side and snatches away the offending pillow, feigning indignation. "Are you saying the sex didn't help at all?"

I pretend to consider it for a long moment, grinning because he's starting to pout. He lets out a low growl and burrows his face against my neck, lips seeking his mark on my skin.

The contact immediately makes me melt, of course. "I suppose," I concede, still pretending to be reluctant. I squirm against him provocatively, trying to instigate a Round Two. We've got some time to make up for.

Hank purrs in approval and takes a deep inhale-

And then freezes.

He grunts and takes another, more exploratory breath.

"Hank?" I ask uncertainly. Whatever he smells better be something important to warrant the interruption, here. "What do you smell?"

He pulls away so I can see his eyes, which are now practically  _glowing_  with excitement. "I think- I think you're pregnant, Vivien," he explains, straining (and failing) to sound calm. His hand slides down to rest on my stomach.

Holy shit.

I'd utterly forgotten about my possible pregnancy, given the emotional roller coaster I've been on the past few days. My proposal to take a test this weekend, after we stopped Magneto, had completely slipped my mind after the traumatic events of Liberty Island. Though to be fair, can you really blame me?

And then as to why Hank hasn't brought it up since then, knowing him he probably  _wanted_  to ask but was afraid to bring up taking a pregnancy test for fear of upsetting me in my supposedly  _unbalanced_  state. What a worrywart.

As for whether my scent has changed, maybe it's just now getting strong enough to really register- or maybe Hank was just too worried about me or even sensed it before but subconsciously wrote it off as wishful thinking again.

I scramble upright. "R-really?"

"That's what it smells like."

Oh God, I hope he's right. I truly hope I'm carrying his baby right now, that we're going to be parents.

Maybe I should feel bad about my excitement, because we haven't even laid James and Myles to rest yet, but I don't. I can't bring myself to feel guilty about having this hope for a new life inside me, a new beginning after all the death and sadness that has been my life thus far-  _especially_  the past few months.

I'm ready to leave that darkness behind and step forward into the light, as cheesy as that sounds.

"Can we go see for sure?" I ask Hank now.

His eyes are dancing and bright with eagerness, an emotion I'm sure is reflected in my own expression. "Let's go."

* * *

We're dressed and downstairs within minutes, but once there our further progress slows to a snail's pace.

"Ms. Vivien, will you be teaching class tomorrow?" Marie asks hopefully.

And she's not the only one- several kids feel the need to stop me and ask if I'll be teaching tomorrow, since Hank asked Charles to excuse me today. Their expressions are eager and hopeful in their shining faces. I'm not sure if their enthusiasm stems from their love of music or for  _me,_  but it doesn't really matter, does it? I couldn't say no even if I wanted to.

One thing I definitely take note of is the way no one even bats an eyelash at the sight of Hank in all his Beastie Boy glory. Not even the youngest children react to seeing a huge blue behemoth holding my hand, to my delight. Their behavior shows no difference between this or his human form.

So between that realization and all the kiddos being excited for me to make a come back, I'm feeling pretty good as we finally head down to the lab.

"See? The kids aren't scared of you," I tease once we're inside.

"I don't think they even noticed me. They were too busy talking to their favorite teacher," Hank retorts, grinning.

I scoff.

"No, really, darling," he argues. "The children here love you so much. You're going to be such a good mother."

I freaking  _hope_  so, because it's not like I've ever done anything like it before.

For most of my life I've had to keep up this wall between myself and the rest of the world, to keep myself from getting hurt. I've had to kill people, to be a destroyer, with music as my only real outlet for any kind of nurturing instincts I had. Yeah, I took care of Myles, but it's not the same as having a kid of my own. I felt so much resentment towards him and James for taking away my ability to make my own life's choices. To find love and happiness on my own terms.

And now I have both.

I'm hoping this will be my chance to  _truly_  let that motherly part of my nature come forth and be free. I want to be a good mom, to give my children all the love I felt from my parents in my childhood- and then some.

And of course the fact that Hank believes I would be a good mother is definitely a confidence boost. I already know he's going to be a fantastic father- he's so kind and caring, how could he not be? I'm thankful he thinks I'm capable of raising his kids and all that junk. It's kinda an important job.

So yeah, the comment makes my face warm. "How about we see if that's going to happen soon?" I joke, trying to hide how much his supreme confidence affected me.

It seems to take an eternity for Hank to draw my blood, spin it down, and start the actual test. It feels like we're both holding our breath, praying for a confirmation to our hopes.

Finally,  _finally_  he takes a look-

"Vivien," he crows, sweeping me into his arms, "it's positive! You're pregnant! Oh, darling, you're going to be such an amazing mom."

I laugh at his out-of-character exuberance and hold him tight. "And you're going to be such a good dad."

_I'm going to be a mom,_  I think, almost giddy with joy.

I can feel it in my  _bones,_  this chance to start over. This baby will be our chance to forget the darkness of our past and move forward into a bright future, free of the Brotherhood's bullshit and violence. It will bind us together more than ever before.

Hank kisses me fervently and kneels down to do the same to my stomach. God, I'm already picturing long winter nights of him talking to our baby, watching it move through my skin. He's going to be  _amazing._

"I love you, Hank," I whisper, running my claws through his hair.

"I love you, Vivien."

God, just look at us right now. Stupidly in love and now a baby on the way.

Our relationship used to seem so impossible in the face of everything going against us, all the way back to day one. We've faced murderous family members and opposing teams, differing ideals, and several near-death situations since we met, and somehow managed to beat them all, together. Our love was strong enough for that. It's strong enough for  _anything._

Next up, parenthood.

And maybe beating the shit out of people who feel the need to make an issue of Hank being furry and blue. I'm hoping I won't have to, but I'm ready just in case. I'll hope for the best and prepare for the worst, just like always.

Paranoid,  _me_? Maybe a little.

But I'm not actually  _scared_  of the future, no matter what happens next.

Together Hank and I can overcome  _any_  hand life deals us.


	113. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

January 27, 2023

"Dr. McCoy?"

The tall, furry man turns to look at the redheaded woman who just called his name and smiles. "Jean, how many times must I tell you that you can call me 'Hank' now?"

Jean grins sheepishly, because it's not the first time her former mentor has offered the gentle correction. She hasn't been his student for decades now, but to her the blue, rather intimidating-looking man with a heart of gold before her will always be the same Dr. McCoy who encouraged her to go into medicine and become a doctor herself. "Sorry," she says. "Old habits. But- I thought you weren't due back from Washington for another two days?"

"Yes, well-" He holds up the bouquet of gardenias and violets in his hand. "Some things are more important than politics," he observes mysteriously. "And my wife is definitely one of them. Is she in her classroom?"

Jean nods, giggling at the feral's love struck expression. Hank McCoy is still a reserved man in most situations, but those concerning his wife- despite almost fifty years of marriage- are  _always_  an exception.

He has come a long way from the reclusive scientist he used to be.

His outlandish (or as his beloved would put it,  _imposing_ ) appearance made him a perfect poster boy for mutant rights, and after the birth of his first child he realized he was doing his family- and  _himself_ \- a disservice if he didn't do something more concrete to help mutants. Over the past forty-five years or so he has risen from obscurity to become the country's most prominent mutant activist, even going so far as to join the President's Cabinet.

_But only thanks to the support of a certain someone,_  he thinks to himself.

Hank excuses himself politely and heads for the classroom wing. Doing so takes him past the staircase just as a dazed-looking Logan descends from upstairs.

"Morning, Logan," he tells the other feral cheerfully as he passes. He chuckles over the man's evident bewilderment. "Late start?"

Hank doesn't take offense over Logan's lack of reply. Mornings are not the Wolverine's forte, and after all, he got that nickname for a reason.

It would have been easy to locate Logan following their adventure to save the future back in 1973, but Charles decided long ago not to force the issue. If time flowed like a river, he reasoned, the older feral would make his way into their orbit sooner or later.

And sure enough, after a second chance meeting Logan ended up joining the X-Men. Gentle probing on Charles' part indicated that the man had no idea that he'd met the telepath, Hank, and Vivien before, but that was alright. He ended up right where he was supposed to, and Hank considers him to be a good friend.

Just like Logan said they would be, back in January 1973...

Hank frowns pensively as a new thought occurs to him.

_Future-Logan first came to us fifty years ago on this very day,_  he thinks.  _And he came from exactly fifty years ahead, in an apocalyptic future. Which means we did it. We changed_ everything...

Hank can't help smiling as the realization sinks in, a mixture of both triumph and relief washing over him thanks to this final confirmation of their success. He had a feeling Logan would need some guidance on the new, brighter present he suddenly found himself in now, but surely this was infinitely preferable to the one he remembered.

By this point Hank is only a few feet away from the slightly ajar door to the music room, and he can hear his favorite voice in the whole world raised in song.

Grinning, he peaks his head in to observe his wife surreptitiously for a moment. She's singing as she prepares for her first class of the day and is as yet too intent to notice his presence.

Despite being seventy years old, Vivien McCoy could easily pass for a woman in her late thirties thanks to her feral nature. Bearing five children gave her petite figure curves in all the right places (or as she put it, "the breast fairy finally showed up, thank fucking Christ"), and Hank thinks she is even more lovely  _now_  than the day he met her.

The singing suddenly stops.

"I know you're there, baby," Vivien says without looking at the door. "Now, are you going to come in or are you going to keep watching me like a creepy weirdo?"

"Hard to say," Hank replies. "Both options have merit."

His mate glances over her shoulder and gives him a _come hither_  look that  _still_  makes his knees turn to jelly, even after all these years. "But if you don't come here, how will I be able to kiss you?" she teases.

"Your logic is unassailable, my love."

Vivien giggles and meets him halfway in a fervent welcoming kiss. "This is a pleasant surprise," she purrs against his lips when they finally come up for air. "I thought you were in Washington until Monday?"

"Yes, but it's not every day you can celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the day you met the love of your life  _and_  she saved your unworthy hide. I wouldn't miss it for the world," Hank explains. He offers her the flowers. "Happy anniversary, darling."

She grins and looks up at him through her long lashes as she takes the proffered bouquet. "And happy anniversary to you," she replies. "Thank you, baby."

And to emphasize her thanks she gives him another kiss after she puts the bouquet in a vase.

Hank reaches up to touch her face, his claws as soft as butterfly wings across her skin. He's so  _thankful_  for the life they've had together, thankful for the fact that he's standing here right now with her. In another future he would be long dead, their family (which includes five children, nine grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren with another on the way) nonexistent.

_Which reminds me-_

"You might find Logan to be a little-  _different_  from now on, Vivien," Hank observes aloud.

Vivien frowns, puzzled. "Oh? Why's that?" But then, only a moment later, understanding dawns across her features. "Wait, I know. Fifty years... He's come back from the 'other' future or whatever, hasn't he?"

Hank nods, smiling just a little at how quickly she comprehended the answer. Her cleverness never fails to cause him some degree of delight, even when she uses her genius against him.

"Well this is going to make for some awkward conversations," she muses dryly. Charles, Hank and herself are the only X-Men who know of the time traveling intervention back in 1973. They never even mentioned it to the Logan of their present for fear of some sort of dimension-altering repercussions. "Poor Logan."

"Yes," Hank agrees solemnly. "Poor Logan."

"Now that he knows what happened I definitely want to thank him," Vivien murmurs, fiddling with her husband's tie. He's wearing a tan plaid suit today, which amuses her somewhat. Hank's predilection for terrible fashion choices has grown into an endearing quality over the years, in her opinion. "Without his sacrifice I'm pretty sure my life would've been a shit show from start to finish."

Hank frowns. "What do you mean?"

She gets a far-off look in her eyes. "A dream, last night. More like a nightmare-"

He winces- even after all this time, his mate still has nightmares when she's not in his arms as she sleeps. Sadly, even decades of happy memories have not been enough to fully eclipse the trauma from her earlier life and some of their more death-defying adventures since then.

"-It was just a bunch of flashes, really, of what my life would've been like without you," Vivien explains, shivering at the recollection. "I woke up in a cold sweat with a weird sense of _deja vu_. I didn't really think anything of it until you mentioned Logan, but now I wonder if it was  _more_  than a dream."

"Do you want to talk about what you saw?"

She shakes her head emphatically. "No. I want to forget all about it," she replies firmly. "It never happened, and now we know it never will. Thank God. I wouldn't change this life for the world."

"So... are you saying it was worth it?" Hank asks, still unsure. "Everything you went through after we met?"

"Without a doubt," she assures him.

It used to be that Vivien wondered how she could live with herself after losing so many people she loved, but time has given her perspective. Her brothers, she feels, died so she could live. Though it hurts to admit it, she knows the world is a safer place without them and their hatred. More importantly, Vivien honors the memory of her friends from Hell's Kitchen by making kindness a priority in all she does.

Hank can't doubt the sincerity written clearly in her hazel eyes. He kisses his mate again and holds her close.

"So are you here for the weekend, or do you have to go back?" Vivien probes, snuggling against him further.

"No, I'm all yours for the foreseeable future," Hank replies. "Though tomorrow we're expected at Hope's house for a family dinner. All of the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren included."

Vivien smiles at the thought- it can be difficult to get their growing brood under the same roof, and she relishes the opportunity to spoil all of her babies at once. "What are we having?"

"I believe pancakes are on the menu."

She laughs. "That's my girl," she announces proudly, referring to their eldest daughter, Hope. She, along with her siblings- Marcel, Sophie, Cole, and Louise- all inherited their mother's enthusiasm for liberating traditional "breakfast" foods from their arbitrary bonds. "And tonight...?"

"Tonight, my love, you are all mine," Hank tells her. "We're going to a play, if you're amenable."

"Oh? Which one?"

" _Romeo and Juliet_ ," he says. "I thought a play about star-crossed lovers would be fitting for the occasion, considering how we began. The irony is that we were able to  _change_  our stars."

"I disagree," Vivien replies, grinning. "We were meant to live happily ever after together from the get-go, baby. It's  _fate_ \- the universe, whatever- that messed up the first time around. That's why the universe ended up reshuffling the deck and dealing it out again by sending Logan back in time."

She kisses her mate heartily, until they're both breathless.

"No, Hank. This is the winning hand we were supposed to be dealt all along."


End file.
